


The Best Mistakes

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Secrets, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Goblet of Fire AU, Guilt, Past Child Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 75,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a dark family secret comes to light, everything Sirius believes in is thrown into chaos. Except that Harry remains, a constant reminder that sometimes our greatest mistakes can be our most precious gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> In regards to canon, all bets are off.

**November 1979**

_Only a little more… only a little more now…_

Regulus kept up the steady mantra as his hands shook around the goblet. The potion burned its way down his throat, agony clawing at his esophagus, his stomach, and on through his limbs as the liquid slowly killed him.

"Master Regulus," Kreacher was whispering. Whimpering in fear and misery. Regulus' lungs burned as he tried to soothe the faithful elf. But words wouldn't come. Slumping against the rock, he heard the clatter of the goblet as it fell.

He heard a moan as well, a pitiful, desolate sound that he thought was probably his own. He felt a gentle touch on the back of his head as his face was tilted up, the cool metal pressed back to his lips. And even though he knew, somewhere in the madness pulling him apart, that it would kill him, Regulus greedily swallowed the liquid.

_So thirsty…_

Pain in every movement, every rustle of skin. Death would be most welcome.

And without warning, the goblet was drawn away; a moan escaped Regulus' lips.

"The locket," Kreacher whispered. His body twitching, his vision swirling in and out of darkness, Regulus could not reply.

The scrape of metal against stone.

Cold metal brushing his palm.

"Master Regulus… the locket… Master has done it."

Summoning his last threads of strength, he curled his fingers over Kreacher's, pressing the Horcrux between them and poured his magic into it until there was nothing left.

Regulus struggled to keep his eyes open. "Take it," he rasped. "… Dark Lord." Struggling to make certain Kreacher remembered all of his orders, he tried to flap a hand. "Sirius… Memories..."

A comforting weight settled on his chest. "Kreacher will obey."

A spell broke the air and amongst the pain, Regulus felt magic flowing into his body—into his head, tugging gently. He concentrated on giving Sirius what he would need. The memories that would destroy the Dark Lord. And then he let his eyes focus one last time. Tears were tracking down Kreacher's face. Trembling as his fingers slipped from the house-elf's grasp, Regulus let death take him.

\--

The distinctive crack of apparition brought everyone's attention from the tea service that Lily was just setting on the low table. Sirius slid his eyes to the window, but could see nothing in the darkness.

"Are we expecting someone?" James asked, glancing up at his wife.

"I don't think so," she answered, handing him a cup, and another to Remus.

James started to push himself up, but Lily put a hand on his arm. "You are supposed to be resting," she chided. "I'll see who it is."

"I've been resting for nearly three weeks," he scoffed. "You're the one who should be resting; you're pregnant."

She smiled but before she could argue the point, Sirius stood. "I'll go," he said with a smirk, "since I'm neither recuperating nor pregnant."

"You sure about that, Padfoot?" James asked with a sly grin. "Who knows what magic might be able to accomplish."

Chuckling, Sirius cuffed his head lightly on the way to the back door. Expecting to find either of the Longbottoms or Peter, Sirius halted abruptly when he saw the Black family house-elf standing in the middle of the Potters' garden.

Wrenching the door open with more force than he had intended, he demanded, "What are you doing here?"

Kreacher was trembling and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Master Regulus…" he said tremulously, "… is dead."

Sirius' stomach twisted. And no matter that he had tried to convince himself for years now that he didn't care about his baby brother, his throat began to burn as he stared at the elf. "How?" he croaked.

Kreacher blinked up at him; with eyes that were usually filled with hate only held pain. "Master Regulus was poisoned..." While Sirius struggled with that, Kreacher held out a thick envelope, sealed with a wax impression of the Black crest. "Master Regulus wanted Master Black to have this."

Sirius started at the honorific, but then realized he was head of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black now and he nearly recoiled from the elf's outstretched hand.

"Master Regulus," Kreacher whispered, "insisted. Master was most brave…" Tears were swimming in the elf's eyes and as tears climbed up his own throat, Sirius snatched up the envelope and pivoted away. When he reached the back door, he could go no further. The crack of Kreacher's Disapparation echoed in his ears.

He had no idea how long he stood there, Regulus' envelope crumpled in his fist, but the click of the door opening barely registered.

"Sirius?"

He focused with bleary eyes. Lily, her arms wrapped around herself in defense of the bitter cold, was standing in the doorway. Sirius only noticed then that his fingers and toes were numb.

"Who was it?" she asked after a pause.

The parchment crinkled loudly in Sirius' fist. "Kreacher… Family house-elf."

Lily tilted her head, concern touching her green eyes as she chafed her arms. "What did he want?"

Sirius' voice was dull as he answered, "Regulus is dead."

Lily's lips parted on a sharp breath. Her hand reached out as if he meant to touch him but brought it back before she made contact. "Sirius... I'm so sorry…"

Sirius nodded, his throat beginning to ache again. "Doesn't matter," he lied. "Hated me, you know…"

Lily's lips pressed together. She closed the space between them and hugged him tightly. After a rigid moment, Sirius let himself relax marginally in the embrace. A sob broke the silence, and she pulled away, her fingers flying to her lips as tears threatened her green eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she breathed and then she had turned away, her rapid footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. Sirius closed his eyes, wondering idly if her emotions would be so out of control her entire pregnancy. James would go spare.

James himself appeared a moment later as Sirius was peeling himself off the wall. "You're supposed to be resting," he said.

James gripped his shoulder, his features pinched with worry. "Lily told us about Regulus."

"It's all right," Sirius cut off any condolences. Looking away he mumbled, "He hated me."

"He didn't hate you, Padfoot. He was just on the wrong side—"

"Right, that's all it was," Sirius muttered. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Kreacher said Reg wanted me to have it."

"But… aren't you going to open it?"

"No," Sirius said as he turned for the garden.

"Wait." James caught his arm. "Where are you going?"

Sirius pushed his fingers into his eyes. "Home. I just need…" Something that he didn't even know how to put voice to, but James nodded.

"All right, mate. Remus will check on you later, yeah? It's not a choice," he added when Sirius started to shake his head. So all Sirius could do was sigh.

"Yeah…"

James gripped his shoulder again, this time with his eyes boring into Sirius', but he didn't press. Only said quietly, "If you need us…"

Sirius nodded, his throat too tight to speak. James smiled though, understanding. He stepped back and with a sharp pivot, Sirius whirled away.


	2. But a Lovable Grim

**December 1994**

A heavy breath escaped Padfoot's nostrils as he saw the familiar crop of dark hair crest the hill, ginger mop and bushy brown flanking. As soon as Harry noticed him, his green eyes darted swiftly round and Padfoot waited with tensed shoulders until a small smile slid across his godson's face; Ron and Hermione had to hurry to match his sudden jog.

Padfoot's tail wagged and if he could have grinned in this form he would have. He settled for a four-pawed dance that he hoped conveyed his excitement. Harry's fingers tangled in the fur at his shoulder as soon as he was within reach. "Hey Snuffles."

Padfoot nudged his ribs in greeting, snorted softly for Ron and Hermione and then led the way to the cave. Sirius transformed as soon as they were inside but when he drew in air to speak, he began coughing.

"Here," Harry said quickly, fumbling with a flask as Sirius caught himself on a scraggly wall. With shaking hands, he accepted the flask, though he managed to get more water on his shirt than in his mouth. Still clutching the flask's neck, he slid down the wall. Harry dropped with him, his green eyes watching intently.

"You all right?"

"Absolutely…" Another cough challenged that reassurance. "Just a bit cold," he explained after a slow sip of the cool water. "And I've been Padfoot for too long."

A soft Warming Charm was chanted above them. Sirius raised his head, smiling as Hermione slid her wand away. "Thank you…"

"We should have brought you a jumper," Harry said, drawing Sirius' attention.

"Would look a bit silly on a dog," Sirius said, smiling.

"Brought you some chicken," Harry told him, "just like last time… and some bread; as much as we could stuff in our pockets." The boys scrambled to find the provisions in their heavy cloaks, handing them over and then waiting expectantly.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Ron demanded with wide eyes as Sirius slipped the parcels into his pockets.

Sirius shook his head. "Not just yet. Got more important things to do," he said with a nudge for his confused godson. "I haven't seen you in ages. I want to hear everything."

Harry didn't immediately answer; he had that wrinkle in the middle of his forehead that Sirius himself was often told as a child would become a permanent mark—though of course it had been more on the order of his mother shouting at him to control his face.

"I've been doing some work for Dumbledore; with Remus," he explained. "Keeps me busy. And food hasn't been as scarce as it was."

Harry squinted behind his spectacles, finally nodding with reluctance. Which was just as well, since hunger did still gnaw like a constant companion at the edges of Sirius' stomach more days than not; and he wasn't _that_ busy.

"So tell me," he went on, hoping he sounded properly carefree, "what plans have you for the holidays?"

Harry let his backside settle against the ground. "Mrs. Weasley invited me to the Burrow."

Relieved that Harry wouldn't be stuck at Hogwarts for Christmas, Sirius smiled. "Good," he said with a nod. "You'll have fun."

His godson nodded a little too quickly. "What will you do?"

"Remus and I will probably share a pie. Nothing terribly exciting."

Sighing, Harry hugged his knees.

"Reminds me though," Sirius said quickly, snapping his fingers and reaching into a pocket that wasn't stuffed with food. "You're not to open it until Christmas, mind, but I wanted to be certain you have it."

Harry stared at the sloppily-wrapped parcel.

"I didn't have any wrapping," Sirius said with a grimace. "Just newspaper…"

Harry shook his head, his green eyes suspiciously bright. "But… I didn't get you anything."

"Well, you don't exactly have the run of Hogsmeade like I do," Sirius said, winking. "Any city within Apparating distance actually…" His easy smile faltered as Harry blinked rapidly. Instantly sobering, Sirius said quietly, "It's all right. I don't need anything. Go on and take it. Just promise me you won't open it until Christmas morning, yeah?"

Cradling the gift to his chest, Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said softly. Sirius smiled, draped an arm over his godson's shoulder and settled in.

"Have you lot figured out the secret of that mysterious egg, then?" he asked. "Less than a month until the second task."

\--

Padfoot kept to trees and large rocks—the occasional rubbish bin—as he trailed behind Harry and his friends on their way back to Hogwarts. He didn't think any of them had any idea that he was watching. It was silly of course; Harry was fourteen after all.

And he was fairly certain that the other children weren't being spied upon. But then, none of the other children had been stalked by Voldemort.

Sighing with a heave of his canine chest, Padfoot slipped behind a large pine twinkling with Christmas lights. The trio had paused in front the bookstore, Hermione pointing through the window. Ron shook his head while Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets, smiling slightly.

Hermione's jabbing finger became more insistent and through Ron's clear protests, he was dragged inside by a sleeve. His imploring gaze was studiously ignored by Harry.

Inwardly chuckling at the scene, Padfoot watched Harry as he propped a shoulder near the door, picking at a thumbnail. A group of chattering children stopped in front of him briefly, Harry laughing at one point. He sketched a wave when the group moved on.

His godson rolled his wand between idle fingers while he continued to wait, finally coming out of the slouch abruptly; his expression was wary. Padfoot's head angled between branches. A raucous group of students were obstructing his view of Harry, though that was easily sorted with a twist and a bit of stretching.

At the head of the group was a blond boy—Draco Malfoy if genes were anything to go by. He was sneering at Harry, gesturing in a manner that immediately lifted the fur along Padfoot's back.

Draco's hands were precariously close to Harry's face.

When Harry took a step back, the pack of Slytherins moved with him, blocking any chance at a clean exit. As Harry took a sideways step, the point of Draco's wand gouged his chest. With a deep growl, Padfoot burst out, spraying pine needles as he went.

"Bloody hell!"

Another boy yelped as he was soundly nipped on the ankle.

"What the hell is that?" Draco demanded in a high-pitched squeal.

"It's a Grim!" someone shrieked, nearly knocking a panting Harry over in his struggle to get away. Padfoot snarled and almost lost to instinct now, snapped his great jaws.

"It's a rabid dog!"

"Somebody stun it!"

"No!" Harry cried, finally wrestling himself free from the wall of bodies. Padfoot moved swiftly, intending to take his godson's wrist in his mouth, but just as he reached Harry's side, several spells rang out and the ground beneath Padfoot's feet exploded. He was flying through the air and then a moment later, crashing down with a grunt of pain as the side of his head hit something solid.

He whimpered as colors swam, bleeding quickly to a strange shimmering silver…

"Where did it go?"

"It was right there!"

"I told you it was a Grim!"

"Harry?" That voice sounded familiar.

Padfoot struggled to lift his head, but his stomach rebelled; his head even more as everything danced and faded in various hues of grey.

Voices and words that he couldn't quite grasp.

He could see Harry through the silvery web… shapes that might have been people as other blobs drifted away. And then he could smell Harry right beside him; a warm hand on his flank.

"Snuffles?" Harry's whispered voice became softer and more anxious. "Are you all right" He sighed in gusty relief at Padfoot's quiet whimper.

"Where is he?"

"Be quiet, Ronald!"

"Shh," Harry hissed; his friends fell silent. "You're under my dad's cloak," he said, his fingers tapping an uneven staccato against Padfoot's side. Padfoot blinked, understanding now why the silvery web was so familiar. "Do you think you can walk?" Harry asked. "We need to take you back to the cave so no one sees you."

Padfoot wanted to shake his head, wished he wasn't in this form so he could tell his godson to leave him and go back to Hogwarts—and to stay close to his friends this time, for pity's sake but all he could do was huff out a few pathetic breaths.

"Just go slowly," Harry said softly, his fingers prodding Padfoot's shoulder now. And not wanting Harry to linger here with him, Padfoot lurched to his feet, and winced as he set his paw to the ground. "I'll be all right," Harry was hissing again, nearly snapping.

"But you can't stay," Hermione whispered fiercely.

"I'm not leaving him here if he's hurt!"

Padfoot watched blearily as he argued briefly with Ron and Hermione, though what they were arguing about was proving elusive. He finally pushed a nose into Harry's ribs, but Harry brushed his snout away. "Hermione, please."

Hermione sighed, obviously recognizing a stubbornness that was new to Sirius. Once Ron and Hermione were gone, Harry whispered, "Come on. We'll go slowly…"

Since dashing off and leaving Harry alone wasn't an option, even if he could have dashed, Padfoot followed the pressure of Harry's fingers and limped his groggy way back to the cave. As soon as they were inside, he collapsed against a crooked wall and transformed. His limbs trembled with the effort.

The cloak was pulled away with a schlip. Harry's face hovered over his, green eyes sharp with worry. "You're bleeding," he said as he fell into a squat.

Sirius lifted the hand that wasn't throbbing to his forehead; felt the sticky warmth of blood. "Had worse…" He couldn't quite manage a shrug. "Harry, listen…" He struggled with a cough, but spoke through the weak throat, "I don't want you walking back alone. I'll walk with you to the Shrieking Shack and—"

"What? _No_ ," Harry said, shaking his head. "Hermione and Ron went to fetch Dumbledore—"

Pain lanced through Sirius' head and ribs as he straightened with a jerk.

"Sirius," Harry warbled, moving to assist but with teeth gritted against the pain, Sirius waved a hand.

"Why?" he asked shakily when he could breathe without collapsing. "Dumbledore… if he finds out I've been coming here—"

"He knows you're innocent—"

"Harry," Sirius said, fingers curling around his godson's agitated wrist, "he will probably forbid you coming to Hogsmeade."

Harry stared at him long enough to blink and then tugged away from Sirius' fingers. Sinking into a slump beside Sirius, he muttered, "Well then, maybe you shouldn't have leapt into the street."

Sirius studied the scowl through half-closed eyes. "Malfoy's son stuck a wand to your chest," he said, thinking he sounded rather reasonable.

But Harry drew his legs up and hugged them, frown not breaking. "I could have handled it myself."

"I know." Harry's eyebrows rose, but Sirius couldn't decide if he looked doubtful or surprised. "It was an instinct," Sirius explained, letting his chin droop as a deep exhaustion began to spread through his limbs. "You are right though… stupid of me."

Harry didn't immediately answer and Sirius let his eyes close.

"Sirius?"

He cracked an eye; his nose was nearly touching Harry's.

"I don't think you're supposed to sleep," he said worriedly. "I had concussion once and Pomfrey wouldn't let me sleep…"

A smile tugged at Sirius' lips. "Right," he said, trying to prop himself up. Harry took an elbow but had to sit right next to him, using his shoulder to keep Sirius upright.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked sharply at Sirius' indrawn breath.

The smile failed this time. "Nothing… think I cracked a rib." He cradled the tender ribs, aching more as he tried not to let too much of his weight rest against his godson's small frame.

"Do you know any pain relief spells?"

"Do… not sure I can manage a spell at the moment; wand's in my pocket," Sirius added as Harry's face fell. Worth a try anyway…

"Here," Harry said quickly, only moving enough to pull his wand, "use mine."

Sirius muttered the simplest pain relief spell he knew. It was enough to take the wince from his voice.

"Is it better?"

Sirius let his head roll to the side, smiling again at his very worried godson. "Much," he lied. The look of relief on Harry's face scattered warmth through his chest. Moving carefully, he let his hand rest atop Harry's head, his thumb brushing absently over the dark strands.

Not quite smiling, Harry squinted up at him. "Do you really think Dumbledore will say I can't come to Hogsmeade any longer?"

"I don't think he will be pleased to hear you've been visiting me here," Sirius chose his words carefully, mostly because thinking about not seeing Harry was painful; worse than the ribs. "Bit selfish of me, I suppose…"

"Selfish?" Harry echoed, green eyes uncertain.

"Did you think I come here to see _you_?" Sirius teased. "No, no, it's the rats, you see. Best rats on the continent."

Harry was clearly trying not to smile. But before Sirius could attempt to win a real one, a pointed hat ducked through the cave's entrance, followed closely by a set of purple and green speckled robes. "Ah," Dumbledore said with a smile as he straightened, "there you are. Lucky for us there is an alarming shortage of caves in Hogsmeade."

Sirius felt his shoulders tensing. "Us?"

"I've brought an expert, of course." Dumbledore stepped aside to reveal Pomfrey in her crisp white robes. Sirius stiffened, but the healer's expression didn't change; the determined one she always wore when confronted with a new patient.

"What happened?" she asked as she knelt beside Sirius. Wary, Sirius glanced over her head to Dumbledore; the headmaster smiled serenely.

"I cast a charm over the cave," he said. "No one will be able to detect us."

"Sirius?" Pomfrey prompted; the stern voice she seemed to reserve for the Marauders. Except for Remus; she had always spoken to him as if he was a spooked kitten.

"A blasting spell knocked me over," Sirius explained, grimacing as she tutted and began waving intricate patterns with her wand. "Hit my head…"

"You are concussed," she told him. "And you've cracked a rib and sprained your wrist."

"Will he be all right?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Of course I—"

"Be still," Pomfrey cut off Sirius, concentrating her wand movements on his head. Without another word, she grasped his chin, her wand still circling his temple as she frowned into his eyes. "Hmm…" Her brows furrowed, deep confusion marring her face but before Sirius could ask what the matter was, she sighed and released him.

"The cut on your forehead is superficial," she informed him, reaching into one of her many pockets and producing gauze and disinfecting solution. She cleaned the wound with expert fingers and closed it with a spell.

"Your pain relief spells need work," she tsked, applying one of her own and a potion as well. "The ribs and wrist will require bone-knitting and strengthening potions." She produced two vials and ordered Sirius to drink up. "I would like to sit with you for a few hours, to monitor you—"

"Why?"

"Injuries to the head are nothing to fool with, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey answered as she secured empty vials into their respective pockets. "I need to be certain there are no lasting effects."

Again that worried lined pinched Harry's brow. "But…"

"It is only a mild concussion," she assured him with a comforting smile. "And the ribs will be healed by morning. "Now," she added, adopting that brisk tone once more, "your godfather needs to rest. The headmaster will escort you back to Hogwarts."

Harry made no move to stand.

Sirius' hand slid to the back of his godson's head. "Hardly a scratch," he said, smiling. "You go on with Dumbledore and I will send off a letter in the morning."

Harry held his gaze for a moment, eyes piercing in a way that squeezed at Sirius' heart. And then with his jaw set, Harry angled his head and met Dumbledore's placid gaze. "Are you going to ban me from visiting Hogsmeade?"

A strange pride brought a smile to Sirius' lips. And much to his pleasure, Dumbledore seemed not at all bothered by Harry's audacity.

"I have always believed that a day spent in Hogsmeade is an excellent way for a student to cope with stress," he answered with a smile. "As a matter of fact, I was considering adding one or two more visits to the calendar next term."

The wizened old man had already known. Relief, in that moment, made Sirius dizzy. Harry had sunk back onto his rump, echoing relief etched into his features.

"I would prefer that future trips not require my presence," Pomfrey interjected, eying Sirius and Harry.

"If you can keep Draco Malfoy from threatening Harry at wandpoint," Sirius muttered, "I think that might be arranged." A soft snort turned his attention to Harry. "Don't tell me," Sirius said, half under his breath. "You two have a long-standing rivalry?"

"He's a git," was Harry's less than helpful answer.

"Perhaps I will have a word with him," Dumbledore said, looking as if the idea had just occurred to him.

"Er, that's all right sir," Harry said hastily. "He's not really all that threatening." A quick glance for Sirius. "Sirius is just a bit…"

"Zealous," Dumbledore finished with a nod as he dipped his fingers into a pocket for his watch. "He is rather, isn't he? Fortunate for you, I would say."

Falling abruptly silent, Harry slid confused eyes to Sirius. Sirius smiled at him and the uncertainty cleared; Harry gave him a small smile.

"Well," Dumbledore said cheerfully; he closed his watch with a loud click. "I believe Madame Pomfrey is about to suggest we make our exit, Harry. Shall we? On the way, I should like to hear all about Draco's threats. I rather enjoy a good story."

Harry sighed.

"I'll want to hear it as well," Sirius said, nudging his godson's knee, "so don't use up all the best bits on the headmaster."

"I'm not daft," Harry retorted, though he was smiling. "I'm not giving you any more reason to bite people."

"You _bit_ Draco?"

Sirius winced under Pomfrey's glare. "Thanks, mate," he grumbled. Harry smirked.

"It wasn't Draco," he assured the healer, "but he probably would have if Draco had been closer."

"Oy…"

"Sirius Black," Pomfrey said over him, in her most menacing voice.

Dumbledore held up an intervening hand. "Perhaps you had best finish your scolding after Harry and I have left," he advised, amusement in his blue eyes. "Come along, Harry."

"I'll send along an owl in the morning," Sirius said when Harry turned his face up. "And I will see you after the holidays."

Harry nodded, all solemnity now. Except for his eyes, which held a hopefulness that Sirius knew Harry didn't realize he was revealing. Moving his arm carefully, he put it around his godson's shoulders, a somewhat awkward half-hug that Harry nonetheless leaned into.

"Keep your head down," Sirius murmured into the black tangles. "And have a Happy Christmas, yeah?"

Harry nodded against his shoulder. "You too."

Sirius wouldn't, but he agreed with a soft murmur before patting his godson and letting go. "Go on," he said when Harry didn't stand. And reluctantly, Harry pushed himself up, falling in line after Dumbledore. He paused at the mouth of the cave.

"Bye," he said quietly and before Sirius could answer, he had slipped away.

"He cares a great deal for you…"

Sirius swallowed. But Pomfrey was waving her wand over him again and he didn't have to respond.

"I found something in your mind when I was examining you," she said, almost offhand as she peered into his eyes with her wand tip.

"Something?" Sirius echoed, pulling away from the soft light.

Pomfrey lowered her wand. "It is a blocked memory. And one which has been there for many years, though I cannot be certain when it originated."

Sirius hoped his laboring comprehension had something to do with the concussion. "Someone obliviated me?"

"Someone did not cast the charm correctly," she amended. "Or, more probably, you did this to yourself; accidentally when you were a child—"

"What?"

"It is not uncommon," she assured him, squeezing his forearm as if she thought he was grieving. "It is much like the accidental magic young children perform. Except in a case like this, a child wants a memory to go away so badly that he obliviates himself; unconsciously of course. Even adults, under great distress…"

"Sirius," she said gently when he did nothing but stare at her like a landed fish, "given your childhood, it is a logical conclusion."

He pulled his hand away and straightened up as much as his injuries would allow. "Right," he said, unable to look at her, even though she had been one of the few people to know the full extent of his mother's cruelty. James and Remus were the only others.

Probably Dumbledore…

And Regulus had known, of course…

Sirius shook himself from that line of thought. It didn't matter now.

"You will let me know if you want me to break the block?"

Sirius' eyes snapped to Pomfrey. "You can do that?"

She nodded.

"I…"

Her eyes crinkled with her sympathy. "Perhaps in a day or two…"

Sirius swallowed; had to look away again. "No," he said softly. "No, I think… no."

A hand touched his arm again. Sirius met her concerned gaze, but found no judgement, no criticism and he smiled gratefully.


	3. Once a Treacherous Brother

"Are you certain?"

Sirius drew a thin breath. He wasn't certain at all. But it had preyed on his mind through the past two nights. He knew the memory could hold nothing good. Of course he didn't want to see it. Didn't want to know.

But he had to.

Because what he was imagining could only be worse than what actually waited for him.

Ridiculous device, the imagination. Especially when it has no outlet except dreams. And nightmares. Nightmares about things unimaginable. Hexes worse than the ones he could remember his mother casting at him. Darker magic than that drilled into him before he accepted his first Gryffindor robes. Curses that could not have crossed his lips.

But if they _had_ …

His fingers closed around the small box that Pomfrey brought with her. A box very neatly wrapped in yesterday's Prophet. A Christmas gift from Harry.

"Sirius?"

The unbidden smile slipped away as he met Pomfrey's concerned gaze. Keeping the parcel tucked against his palm, he squared his shoulders and nodded. "I'm certain."

Pomfrey studied him for a moment. He tried to give her an encouraging smile but judging by her soft sigh, he didn't think he succeeded. Nevertheless, she pointed her wand at his temple and began a murmured chant; a complicated string of Latin that he could have followed if he hadn't been so focused on the tendrils of fear lapping at his belly.

It couldn't be worse than the last time he had seen his mother, he told himself firmly. Not worse than the curse that had charred his eyebrows and left blistered evidence of her fury down to his chin.

It had taken all of Mrs. Potter's Burn Salve and all of Mr. Potter's considerable healing magic to remove the scars.

The visible ones anyway.

And if he hadn't blocked that memory, he couldn't imagine—

Pain lanced through Sirius' head, as if someone had stuck a knife through his skull. It radiated down, down and outward through his arms and fingers. With a sudden dizziness, Sirius was spiraling downward—falling through colors and blurry white.

Trying desperately to right himself, he clutched at Pomfrey's arm and squeezed his eyes shut. And as the colors filled themselves in again, in ordered procession, he _remembered_ this.

Remembered sitting in James' favorite chair by the fire. Smiling to himself because James wasn't here to tell him to choose another. Though he would be home soon enough to reclaim his throne.

Which was why Lily was in constant motion.

Straightening pillows, adjusting picture frames and rotating bric-a-brac. Not to mention peering into the oven at the roast duck; James' favorite. Anything to keep from checking the clock. Not that the slowly-ticking hands were any help in this situation.

It was the same every time James was out on a mission for Dumbledore, though Sirius usually only heard about Lily's nerves secondhand since Dumbledore most often sent Sirius and James off together.

Sirius had already decided he wasn't fond of this arrangement—one more hour waiting on James and Remus and he was going to volunteer to scrub the floors; wandless.

Lily was back into the kitchen; he could hear her opening the oven door. He set aside his bottle of butterbeer, sighed and struggled up from the cushy recesses of the chair, following after her. As she reached for a stack of plates, he plucked them from her grip.

She glanced up at him, surprise in her green eyes. "Thanks," she murmured. She shook her head. "I forgot you were here."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Not your fault; I've always been terribly forgettable."

She half-smiled, squeezed his wrist and leaned her back against the counter. "I hate waiting," she said on a low sigh as she watched him lay the table. He accepted the bundle of forks she handed over.

"James is even worse when it is you we're waiting for," Sirius said.

"He won't have to worry about that much longer…" She put her hand over her lower abdomen, a distinctly protective gesture. Sirius paused with a fork suspended in mid-air.

"Are you…?"

Lily's smile was full this time. "Don't tell James," she said quickly as Sirius' eyebrows disappeared under his fringe. "Not that there's technically anything to tell. It's much too early to know—" A blush decorated her cheeks. "—but a woman can just _tell…_ "

Well, Sirius couldn't very well argue with that. He smiled along with her. With sudden energy, she grinned and opened the cold cupboard. "Help me make a salad?" she asked over her shoulder. "They should be back any moment."

"I'm aces with a lettuce."

She came out of the cupboard, her arms full of vegetables, her eyebrow arched. "Since I've seen you create an entire mural with nothing but a crate of lettuces and a can of paint, I can't argue that."

"Two cans of paint," he corrected as he took the vegetables and dumped them on the counter. "We needed maroon and gold both."

Passing him a knife, she rolled her eyes. "I've always wondered how Gryffindor manages to have any fun now that you four have graduated. Though _how_ you graduated…"

"Clever girl," he said with a smirk. "It was our charm. That, and our hair," he added, twirling the cucumber before settling it on Lily's cutting board and taking off the end with a decisive chop.

She bit through the tip of a carrot, smiling slowly as she chewed. "James does have lovely hair…"

A pointed cough and she chuckled.

"Yours is lovely as well," she said, as if soothing Padfoot's hackles. "Very shiny."

Without really being conscious of it, he ran his fingers through his hair, only noticing when Lily snorted. He made a disgruntled sort of sound and went back to his slicing, soon switching to the lettuce.

He looked over at Lily when she sighed. She was arranging napkins on the table, her lips squashed in a worried line. Balancing the point of the blade on the cutting board, he half-turned so that he was facing her. "He'll be all right."

Lily glanced at him, her fingers knotted in one of the cloth napkins. She nodded. "I know… I always do this; every time. I know it's silly…" She shrugged as she lowered her lids.

"It isn't," he assured her quietly; she raised her eyes. "But this is _James_. And he has Remus with him. Nothing to be worried about." He smiled, confidently he hoped. Her eyes softened, but before she could say anything, the Floo roared from the sitting room. All of Sirius' tension eased away. "See? There they are now."

But Lily wasn't even listening. Her hair flew around her as she pivoted. Her excited footsteps rapped against the wood, with Sirius only a few paces behind. And no less excited.

His heart dropped when he saw Dumbledore instead of James. Dumbledore, his face as solemn as Sirius had ever seen it. Moving of their own accord, his fingers caught Lily's hand. She had already lifted the other to her lips.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his blue eyes clouded with sorrow. He put a gentle hand over their tangled hands. "I'm so very sorry Lily…"

"No," she whispered.

Sirius stared at Dumbledore, willing those blue eyes to stop telling him that James was dead.

"The Death Eaters ambushed us… There was an explosion."

A strangled sob broke the silence and for a moment, Sirius couldn't tell which one of them had made the sound.

Lily. Her furious echo reverberated round the small room. "No," she said again. Her nails raked over Sirius' skin as she ripped her hand away.

With a force that should have rocked the headmaster, she shoved the flats of her hands against his chest. "No," she shouted. "He's not! He can't be! No! This is all your fault no he shouldn't have…" The words bled together, no longer words at all as she made fists and began pounding.

"Lily... dear girl…" Dumbledore, pain crumpling his face, caught her wrists but she continued to flail. He murmured something as he brought her struggling body close, and Sirius finally came out of his stupor as Lily slumped.

"What did you do?" he demanded, already springing forward, but the headmaster caught her easily, as if she weighed nothing.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said, grief softening his voice and making it shake, "I'm sorry."

"What did you do to her?"

"The spell acts as a sedative. She'll be perfectly—"

Rage drove Sirius' words up an octave. "You had no right to do that!"

"I…" Dumbledore looked stricken, "… apologize, Sirius. She was hysterical, as you—"

With fury making his vision swim, Sirius gathered Lily in his arms; Dumbledore didn't even protest. And Sirius wanted to tell him to get out. That he wasn't welcome here. He didn't know why Dumbledore shouldn't be welcome here, except that Lily's words to Dumbledore were dancing in his head.

_This is all your fault…_

His hands tingled under Lily's weight as he climbed the stairs. But James would want him to make certain she was comfortable.

James would insist—

_James…_

Sirius' chest heaved, but he simply cradled Lily closer. When she was tucked under the blankets in the bed, Sirius slumped in the chair beside; he couldn't remember how they got there.

The gold embroidery in Dumbledore's robes glinted as he knelt in front of Sirius. The anger had drained, and Sirius could only stare. "Sirius… may I bring you anything? Tea? A Calming Draught?"

Numb, Sirius shook his head. His voice was hoarse when he whispered, "He can't be—"

Mimicking his gesture to Lily, Dumbledore closed a hand over Sirius'. And then he was speaking; words about a Death Eater ambush, a terrible explosion, horrors of nothing left but Sirius didn't listen. He didn't want to hear. He didn't need to hear.

James was dead.

And even if Remus was going to recover, what good was that without James?

"Perhaps I should contact one of Lily's friends?" Dumbledore asked softly. "Someone to care for her?"

Sirius gazed at Lily—at the dark hair fanned out across the white pillows. Her eyelids gently fluttering with her enforced sleep. "No… I'll stay with her."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Of course."

Sirius closed his eyes and tried to swallow around the swelling in his throat. Dumbledore squeezed his fingers.

"Maggie Dearborn is waiting for her husband as well. Too many lives lost today…" He sighed. "Would you like me to return later this evening?"

With his lips clamped together, a tiny shake of the head was all Sirius could manage. Dumbledore accepted that with a hesitant nod. "I will be at Hogwarts should you need anything… If Lily needs anything…"

Sirius didn't think he responded; didn't think he could have spoken even if prodded with an iron. The old man brushed Lily's cheek before he slipped away.

Sirius supposed time went on from there, that the clock ticked its way forward but he lost track of everything. There was nothing but the empty space in his chest.

Where was the denial? The anger that was supposed to signal grief? Neither was there.

He felt nothing.

James was supposed to be here.

The duck was going to burn. The lettuce was sitting, unchopped, on the cutting board.

James couldn't be dead.

James was life itself, bigger than all of them. His best friend.

His brother.

He was meant to outlive them all.

When the ache became a hollow, Sirius closed his eyes and replayed scenes in his head. _He and James whispering over a burbling cauldron, Slughorn commending their ingenuity when they invented a pimple-suppressing cream._

Giggling uncontrollably as Peter shrieked as they finally worked out the spell to rearrange his clothing so that he was wearing his pants outside his robes.

_Cheering until they were hoarse the day they transformed completely. Grinning—and pretending the moisture in their eyes was because of the dust—when they explained everything to Remus._

_James' soppy smile when he announced that Lily had said yes, and by Merlin, he told them she would!_

_Sirius' half-watt smile as he thumped his mate on the back in congratulations. He wasn't losing his best friend, after all. James was only getting married._

_The wedding day, with Sirius standing beside James, grinning all the way now. James had never been so happy._

Sirius' smile abruptly fell as he dragged his eyes open and tried to focus. Dreaming… he had been dreaming. He blinked groggy eyes at the clock—half eleven.

He had no idea how long he had been sleeping.

The grief crashed over him as soon as his eyes found Lily. She was awake, her eyes unfocused and fastened to the ceiling.

"Lily…" His dry throat swallowed the word. Her eyes were glassy as she turned her head.

She blinked in confusion, struggling for understanding. "Sirius?"

He nodded and as her lips trembled, he stood on shaky legs and crossed to the bed. "What can I get for you?" He hoped she couldn't trace the pain making it difficult to breathe. "Dumbledore cast a spell to sedate you. You've been asleep… are you hungry? Would like a glass of water? Do want me to send for someone?"

If he continued to speak, maybe the ache would go away.

But Lily shook her head. Her irises were brighter now, and he couldn't go on. Her fingers opened and closed, her hand looking for its mate. Choking down the rising swell, Sirius sat on the bed and took them in his own. They tightened around his, her grip an entreaty.

He fought a smile to his lips, whispering, "Sleep… just sleep." But she didn't. Her eyes held his. And they sat there together for a long time, neither speaking. Both lost to their memories.

And this time Sirius heard every tick of the clock, listened to the autumn wind howling outside the window. The scritch of a branch against the glass. And somewhere amongst the symphony, he dreamt again.

_The day he met James on the train—the grin on the black-haired boy's face when the Hat shouted Gryffindor for Sirius. James sticking out his hand in pact as he joined Sirius at the table. Sealing their friendship._

_Crowing in delight the day inked footsteps walked across their map. Whispering under cover of the cloak, long into the night. Dueling Death Eaters. James taking a reverberating curse to the chest in Sirius' stead; Sirius coughing up dried leaves as his friend writhed on the dusty ground._

He woke with sweat pooling at his collar, dotting his upper lip. His free hand was in tangled in the loose sheet. His free hand…

Twisting his neck, he found his head on one of the pillows, his face very close to Lily's. She had cradled his hand to her breast. He could feel her heart beating.

He should let her be… let her rest.

Do something useful.

But her face was peaceful, as it hadn't been hours ago when he was slumped in the chair. Her muscles no longer twitched her stress. So he quieted his movements, keeping as still as he could.

The clock chimed five but the sun was not up. It wasn't even dawn. And he wondered if he should be hungry, but the hole in his chest had swallowed his stomach, making him feel emptier than he ever had. He tried to press back the tears climbing up his sinuses.

"Sirius?"

A wet noise escaped but he pressed his lips together and turned his eyes to Lily. She was staring at him, once again as if she had forgotten he was here. Her gaze flicked to their twisted fingers and Sirius realized her mind had probably filled in James' hand and he wanted to snatch it away.

But she clutched tighter, the grip painful now. Tears gathered in her eyes. There was no more confusion in her face. "He's gone… isn't he?"

No time to be a coward. James would expect more. So Sirius nodded; his chest burned with the effort. "Yes."

Lily's lips trembled. Her other hand squeezed a handful of the bedclothes at her belly. And with an icy jolt, Sirius remembered what Lily had said in the kitchen. About knowing… about a baby…

A child that James would never know.

A quiet sob broke the silence and Lily's shoulders began to shake with the force of her tears. It wasn't anything like the storm she had unleashed on Dumbledore. Tears were falling slowly down her face, and she was gulping though sobs that were somehow harsher and more ordered than her panic downstairs.

She twisted, her shoulders hunching as she tried to curl her body in on itself; as if to force the hurt away. Sirius slid down the mattress and pulled her close, wrapping his arms firmly around her to absorb the tremors.

"Shhh," he murmured. "Shhh… It's going to be all right—"

His own tears finally escaped then, finding strength as Lily sobbed quietly in his arms. She was clinging to him, her fingers finding purchase in his shirt.

Words impossible, he kissed her hair. With another shuddering breath, she turned her face up, silent tears still tracking down her face. And then her mouth was on his, her body molded to him. And with her fingers wound in his hair, the hole in his chest didn't scream so loudly.

The burning in his throat eased as he kissed her back.

He could feel the tears on her cheeks, felt the shared grief heaving their chests in mismatched harmony but he no longer cared. The memories and the hurt were fading away, being drowned in the warmth of lips and skin.

But guilt trumped everything else as soon as Lily was curled into his side. Her even, measured breaths awakened gooseflesh across his chest.

The magnitude of this, what they had done, kept sleep at bay. He swallowed, his limbs twitching with conflicting urges—to leap out of the bed, as far away from her as he could get, and to draw her in, breathe until her scent filled his nostrils.

A chill was quickly spreading; shame along with it. Because he had meant to protect her. He hadn't been able to watch her cry. To witness grief as deep as his own. But this had been a mistake. And she would realize it as soon as she woke. It didn't matter that she had needed him so desperately. He should have found another way to comfort her. He was supposed to be stronger than this.

He swallowed hard and forced the tears away. Sick bastard, that's what he was. Taking what was James' alone.

But James was dead.

He had to gulp to keep the sob from escaping that time, and Lily shifted against him. He froze, but it was too late. Her eyes fluttered open, and then her fingers arched against Sirius' clammy skin as she took in the scene.

Their legs intertwined beneath the sheets, her hair haphazard across his chest; cheek pressed into his shoulder.

He didn't move as her breathing shallowed. "Sirius..." Another round of goose pimples blossomed. "Sirius… God—" She took in a rush of air as she choked on the whispered words. "I'm so sorry…"

Sirius' lips parted. "What? No," he said as she slid away, "it wasn't your—"

Lily shook her head. It took Sirius a moment to realize why she was tugging on the sheets. He backed away, pushing wads of bedclothes toward her as he grappled for the pillow behind him. Her cheeks were dark. Her forehead as well, where her sweaty fringe didn't obscure it.

She was shaking, and it sent a stab of shame down to Sirius' belly. His eyes darted around the room, and as soon as he saw her dressing gown on a hook by the bureau, he summoned it.

He nearly dropped it as he offered it to her. With a grimace, he turned away so that she could cover herself. He didn't turn round until he heard the loo's door open and close. A moment later he was fumbling with trousers and a shirt, leaving his socks jumbled in his fist before slipping out of the room. He couldn't leave, not without telling her. But at least he could give her privacy in her own room.

As he should have done yesterday evening.

It was hours before Lily emerged. Her hair hung in damp strands around her face, her feet bare and most of her buttons in the wrong holes. As soon as she saw Sirius, she wrapped her arms around herself. He thought he could hear her teeth chattering.

She didn't say anything though her lips and jaw moved three times. Sirius finally stood; he stuffed his hands into his pockets to still their tremors. "Wanted to be certain you were all right," he murmured. "Before I left…"

Lily blinked several times but tears glistened anyway. "Don't," she said quietly. "You don't need to…"

Sirius didn't have a response for that, so after his startled pause, he only nodded. Lily gazed at him for another moment and then she went to James' chair, dropping into it as if she could walk no farther. Her face to the fire, she folded her legs up.

The light from the fire flickered soft patterns on her skin.

Moving in silence, Sirius chose the warmest quilt from the basket by the hearth and draped it over her. She didn't seem to notice. He stood beside her chair, his eyes roaming everywhere except back to Lily. He finally sat in the chair opposite and watched the crackling flames. Despite the heat from the fire, his limbs remained cold.

"Are you… hungry?" he ventured, flexing his fingers against the velvety fabric.

She shook her head.

He dented the fabric with his fingernails. "You ought to drink something…"

Her deeply-shadowed eyes met his only briefly. Her voice was like gravel as she answered, "Tea."

Grateful for something to do, he sprang from the chair and went into the kitchen. Just as he was setting the kettle on a tray, a flash of light through the window caught his attention.

His hand went to his sleeve, and then he swore under this breath. He had left his wand upstairs.

"Accio—" He swallowed the rest of the words as he saw Dumbledore, with Fawkes on his shoulder. The headmaster was hurrying across the lawn, his face pale as bone.

Sirius wrenched the door open.

"Sirius," Dumbledore panted. "It's James… We've found him," he rushed on, as close to babbling as Sirius had ever heard. "He's alive, Sirius. He is unwell, weeks to recover fully, more damage than Poppy could fix on her own… Dear Merlin, where is Lily?"

Sirius stood there, absolutely frozen, as Dumbledore rushed by in a swirl of lemon robes.

Through a fog, he listened to the old man repeating the same words to Lily.

And then silence.

Even the flames were in shock.

Finally… muffled sounds that were probably Lily's.

"Lily," Dumbledore was saying in a soothing voice, "it's quite all right, my dear… Yes, yes, I am quite certain. I am dreadfully sorry to have given you news prematurely, but the explosion—it was magically generated—threw James' body miles away, to Ottery St. Catchpole. It was only happenstance that we found him at all. It was little Bill Weasley who found him. In a field near their home. He was terribly frightened, of course—"

Sirius finally made it to the parlour.

Dumbledore had a hand around Lily's shoulders, supporting her as she trembled. Dumbledore smiled at him, missing Lily's haunted eyes as they pierced Sirius through.

"You may both see him," the headmaster went on. "Only for a few minutes, I'm afraid, but those are Poppy's orders. He lost a significant amount of blood." He continued to detail James' wounds, each worse than the next. He finally stopped when Lily closed her eyes.

"Poppy is expecting us… I know you have been through a terrible ordeal," he said quietly. "And I am sincerely sorry for that. I cannot tell you how happy… how relieved I am to have James back with us." He squeezed Lily's arm as she tried unsuccessfully to blink back tears.

"You need shoes," Dumbledore observed. "Allow me…" He summoned the trainers next to the back door. Lily stared at them when they were in her hands, finally sitting heavily in the chair and fumbling to get them on her feet.

And the entire time, Sirius hadn't moved.

_James is alive_ , his mind screamed at him. Screamed until it was hoarse. Because there was no relief to match Dumbledore's. He had betrayed his best friend.

He had slept with Lily.

He had fucked his best friend's wife.

Sirius could feel his heart beating. Wondered if it still would be once he told James.

"Sirius, if you would take Fawkes' tail?" Dumbledore interrupted the squeezing around Sirius' heart.

The older wizard was holding onto Fawkes' wing with one hand, Lily with the other. Lily looked away as soon as their eyes met. Biting hard on his bottom lip, Sirius grabbed a handful of feathers and was sucked into oblivion.

Unfortunately, he was spat out a moment later. Hogwarts' infirmary was unchanged.

Except that James' bruised body was lying in the bed nearest Pomfrey's office. Lily's indrawn breath was fast and harsh. Only Dumbledore's hand on her elbow kept her from falling as she rushed to his side. "James…" There were only tears after that as Lily put her cheek to his.

Sirius couldn't move.

Conversations flowed around him, including Pomfrey briefing the headmaster on Remus' condition in the next bed. And Dedalus Diggle's as well. Alice Longbottom had already gone home.

_James is alive…_

Over and over the refrain marched through Sirius' brain.

Until Pomfrey smiled at him on her way to another white-robed healer in her office. And Dumbledore was beckoning him closer. Lily was still bent over James, her fingers combing gently through his hair.

And without his permission, memories socked him in the gut. _Lily's fingers knotting the hair at his nape as their mouths explored, his own fingers playing chords against her hips._

He gnashed his teeth together, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw.

Lily moved a little then, and Sirius saw James' face. His pale skin stood in stark contrast to the bruises covering most of the skin. He had several cuts as well, one from his eye down to his chin.

Most of his body was restrained in a magical field. He wouldn't be able to move for a week.

Sirius forced the tears away with an angry swallow. _You stupid git, Prongs_. The thought came unbidden. And he didn't know what it meant.

"I should have been there…"

Dumbledore looked up, his blue eyes soft and Sirius realized he had said the words aloud.

"You could not have prevented this."

_It should have been me…_ He didn't say it this time, but the headmaster nodded his understanding. But of course, he couldn't understand. Probably couldn't even suspect that Sirius was capable of such betrayal.

Sirius' throat stung as he silently begged for his friend's forgiveness. Something he would never be granted. But even though he would be forfeiting the only family he had, Sirius knew he had to tell him.

"Lily," Pomfrey said quietly as she joined them. Lily's eyes were swollen when she raised her head. "He will not wake until tomorrow, he is so heavily sedated. You should go home and rest. I will give you a Sleeping Draught."

Lily opened her mouth, closed it again when she noticed Sirius. She nodded.

Pomfrey gave her several vials and more instructions before she assured both of them that James would recover fully. Lily nodded wordlessly and allowed Dumbledore to escort her to the Floo.

Sirius allowed his hand to ghost over James' matted hair before he answered Dumbledore's summons and though Lily's gaze was fixed straight ahead, he stepped into the fireplace beside her.

"You will be certain she rests?" Pomfrey asked him. Keeping his face calm with effort, Sirius nodded. She smiled and held out the pot of glittery powder.

Flinging it down, he called hoarsely, "James Potter's house!"

It was only a reflex that made him catch Lily's wrist as she tripped over the rug. But the instant he touched her, her face crumpled. "Oh God…"

"I'm sorry!" He snatched his hand away but she only continued to stare at him.

"What are we…" She shook her head. "We can't… you can't tell him," she whispered. "Do you have any idea what—"

"He will be angry with me," Sirius said, his voice strange and flat to his own ears. "Not you. He'll forgive you."

Lily blinked, and blood rushed to her face. "I know…"

He knew she hadn't meant to be cruel but blades scored his gut then. But he nodded. He had said it first, hadn't he? "I'll tell him," he said; he sounded like he was speaking through a tunnel.

But Lily was shaking her head, her green eyes too bright. "No," she said too loudly. "You can't do that… He'll never… I can't do that to you—"

"Lily, you can't live with something like this between you; don't be foolish—"

"You're like a brother to him, Sirius, and it will kill him to lose you—" Her breath caught and a few tears spilled over. "It will kill him…"

Sirius' sinuses burned. "I know—"

"Obliviate!"

The whispered word rocked him back. And then Sirius was sitting in a cave with Pomfrey, the memories as vivid as if he had just lived them.

He had slept with Lily.

_Fifteen years ago._

"No." He tried to take a breath, but his heart was beating too fast. "No…"

It couldn't have happened.

He would not have betrayed his friend.

He had slept with his best friend's wife.

Fifteen years ago.

"Sirius?" Pomfrey was still kneeling beside him; she took his sleeve. "Sirius, are you all right?"

He could have answered in a dozen ways. There were dozens of thoughts darting through his head. But only one word emerged. "Harry…"


	4. And a Well-Known Stranger

Unwelcome dreams haunted Sirius. Memories of her body entwined with his, her fingers in his hair, the stolen pleasure flooding his senses. He woke, as Padfoot, soaked in sweat and shivering in the December freeze.

Lurching to his feet, he transformed and had to catch the point of a rock to keep from falling.

"Shit," he muttered to the empty cave. He should have left the memories hidden. Better to continue on in ignorance. Except…

But no, it was impossible. Lily had already been pregnant. She had said she was.

_It's much too early to know… But a woman can just tell._

What if…

No. Harry was James' son.

_But what if he's mine?_

Sirius closed his eyes and forced the thought away. Lily had been so certain. Of course Harry was James' son.

Sirius sighed and ran a hand down his face, hunching his shoulders as he stared out into the orange light of the dawn. Having no destination in mind, he transformed once more and left the cave. A light snow was dusting the ground; his paws left prints as he wandered to the edge of town where the Express was waiting for its morning passengers.

Lying in the shadows of a well-tended bush, Padfoot watched as the house-elves prepared for the students. Seven times they had boarded this train.

Lily had been entwined with James the final time, but that hadn't mattered. She had kept up with them as she had all year; fitting in perfectly. Because she was always meant to be there—at James' side.

Just as James was meant to be at Sirius'.

Padfoot closed his eyes as grief settled over him. Missing James had always been uncomplicated. But now… For the first time in thirteen years, he didn't wish he could see his best friend, if only one more time.

The shrill whistle of the Express brought his eyes open. Gray smoke was just beginning to curl from the scarlet smoke stack. The conductor, the same witch who had been operating the train as far back as Sirius' first year, took a gold watch from her robes. Padfoot could see the first groups of students approaching, laughing and talking as they made their way down the wide path in the carriages led by the thestrals. Draco was among them, with yesterday's sneer as he thrust his trunk at one of the waiting attendants.

Barely suppressing a growl, Padfoot returned his attention to the path, restlessness finally bringing him to his feet when he saw Harry. He and Ron were deep in conversation, their heads bent close together as they jumped down from the carriages. Ron made an impatient gesture as Hermione struggled with her trunk, to which she responded with a frown and words Padfoot couldn't hear.

Harry finally brushed Ron aside and hauled the trunk to the ground; bringing up a swirling cloud of snow and dust. Coughing, Harry and Ron waved it away and then the trio plodded down the path together. But before they reached the station, Harry said something out of the side of his mouth to Ron and slipped into the trees lining the lane. Padfoot narrowed his eyes, his muscles tensed as he waited for his godson to reappear. Hermione was speaking intently to Ron, who didn't look at all surprised by his friend's disappearance.

And when Harry didn't reappear, Padfoot slunk from his bush and melted into the dense trees, his nose to the ground. Picking up Harry's scent easily, he followed it and was relieved when there was no other to blend with it. Where ever Harry was going, he wasn't being followed by anyone else. The other tickling emotion in his chest was probably irritation. Something strange—and potentially dangerous—was happening at Hogwarts and Harry knew it. This was no time to go wandering.

The irritation drained away as he realized where Harry was going. Still confused though, Padfoot scanned the area. When he was certain he wouldn't be seen, he darted across the road and into the cave he had called home for the past few months.

Harry was peering into the dark recesses in the back, whispering, "Snuffles?"

Silently, Padfoot became Sirius. A smile rose to his lips as he watched his godson. After a minute he crossed his arms over his chest and asked into the quiet, "What are you doing?"

With a muffled yelp, Harry spun around. "Oy..." The light was dim, but Sirius could see the flush creeping up Harry's cheeks. An unexpected pang squeezed Sirius' chest. He looked just like James. Down to the spectacles.

Though as a baby, it had been the vivid green eyes drawing their attention. And Harry's dark hair, never lightening as a baby's hair usually does. It had stayed as inky as James'.

And Sirius'…

"Someone's going to think he's your son," James had remarked with a grin one night when Sirius had been crooning a song to his enthralled godson.

And more than once Sirius and James had been mistaken for brothers. Regulus looked less like Sirius than James did. Though the Black brothers had shared their mother's chin.

_Harry's chin is too square to be James'…_

Harry cocked his head, his brow creasing. "What?" he asked, and Sirius realized he was staring.

He cleared his throat. "No, nothing… What are you doing here?"

Harry shifted the book bag against his shoulders and flattened his fringe. "I asked Pomfrey how you were last night and she was being all dodgy…"

Another smile lifted Sirius' lips. "Was she?"

Harry nodded. "I mean, she said you were all right…" His eyes narrowed. "You are, yeah?"

"Haven't even got a twinge," Sirius assured him. Harry's shoulders relaxed.

"Good," he said, smiling, "because Hermione told me all sorts of things that might happen to someone with concussion, and—"

"Harry," Sirius interrupted gently, "I do appreciate you wanting to check on me, you've no idea, but the train isn't going to wait." He smirked. "And the Weasleys will probably be alarmed if you don't arrive with Ron."

Harry sighed. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets; fists bunched the fabric. "Not that the Weasleys aren't brilliant, but…"

"I know," Sirius murmured. He reached out and let his fingers comb Harry's fringe aside. "And if I didn't live in a cave…"

Harry's lips quirked, but it didn't disguise the distress in his eyes. "There's always next year, yeah?"

"The moment I'm free," Sirius promised softly. Harry's smile wavered, but then he pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Right," he said, sounding no more confident that Sirius felt. He gripped the straps of his book bag, his shoulders sagging under its weight. "I reckon I better go."

"Yes," a new voice said from behind them. Dumbledore's white eyebrows rose expectantly as they turned. "I do believe the conductor would like to be on her way."

Harry grimaced, his shoulders squaring. But Dumbledore simply smiled at him, his blue eyes without ire.

"Hermione informed Hagrid that you were missing."

Harry darted a glance to Sirius, returned his gaze to Dumbledore. "I knew Ron would crack."

"Hermione is rather persistent, isn't she?"

Harry returned the headmaster's smile. It faded as Dumbledore brought his hands together and said, "Though I know you would like to stay, Hagrid is waiting outside to escort you back to the train."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "Yes sir." He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, his eyes studying Sirius as intently as Sirius had studied him. "Maybe… there's somewhere you can stay?" He attempted a smile. "I know you don't come here for the rats."

Chuckling softly, Sirius put an arm round Harry's shoulders and pulled him in. "I'll think of something… I don't want you worrying about anything; except what Molly is making for Christmas dinner. I hear she's a brilliant cook."

"She is," Harry mumbled into his tattered cloak.

Sirius squeezed Harry's upper arm before releasing him. "Thank you for the present…" It was still safe in his pocket.

"Don't open it until Christmas," Harry said, doing a fair imitation of McGonagall with his one-eyed glare; Sirius smiled.

"Wouldn't think of it, mate."

"Best be on your way, Harry," Dumbledore prodded gently. Sirius raised his fingers in farewell, not trusting himself to speak. With a gloomy smile, Harry ducked his head, dug his fists deeper into his pockets and trudged out of the cave.

Sirius listened to Hagrid's greeting and Harry's mumbled response. With his stomach tied in knots, he strained to hear the rest but only Hagrid's rumbling voice met his ears. And when even that faded away, Sirius sat heavily on one of the tall rocks, his gaze on the floor.

"Perhaps I have been blind…"

Sirius lifted his eyes, having forgotten he wasn't alone. But it took too much energy to speak so he simply waited for the headmaster to go on.

Arranging his orange paisley robes carefully, Dumbledore sat on the rock nearest him. "I know you are aware of Harry's family situation… at least a little?"

Sirius studied Dumbledore's face, finally nodding. "He hasn't said much… enough though that I know they don't treat him as they should."

The headmaster sighed. "I see so much of you in him."

Sirius head jerked up. But Dumbledore's gaze was placid, and Sirius' heart settled. Of course he hadn't meant _that_.

"It was only recently," Dumbledore went on, "that I became aware of his family's treatment of him. Arthur Weasley met them this past summer..." He shook his head, his eyes clearing. "The rest I had to surmise as well. And I did attempt to speak with Harry about them, but he insists that his aunt and uncle haven't hurt him… as you used to claim about your own parents."

The knots in Sirius' stomach coiled tight. Anger flushed his skin. "They hurt him?"

"Not physically, or at least from what I can guess. But they do not love him."

Sirius' fingers clenched, his jaw tautening as he turned his eyes back to the floor. He knew very well what it was not to be loved by your own family. And then he had gone and fucking destroyed the memory of the people that had loved him as family should.

"If I may, Sirius… You seem ill at ease."

Ill at ease?

Sirius almost laughed. If only it was that benign. He imagined Harry's expression if he knew that Sirius had betrayed his father. Betrayed Lily too.

"I did not realize that Harry looked upon you as family."

Once again, Sirius' head came up. Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"I should have done," he admitted, "knowing Harry as I do, but he has had very little time to get know you."

Gruffly, Sirius murmured, "He's always been my family."

"I know." Dumbledore's head dipped a nod. "I had no doubt about your affection for him. I know you would have loved him as a son."

Sirius closed his eyes.

"I apologize, Sirius, for not giving you that opportunity thirteen years ago," Dumbledore said, his voice full of soft pain. "My only thought was for Harry's safety."

Grief clogged Sirius' throat and he could only nod. Mine too, he would have said, but Dumbledore seemed to understand his silence.

"If you are amenable," Dumbledore said softly, tentatively, "I see no reason why Harry should not spend at least part of the holiday with you—"

Sirius straightened so quickly, he gasped in sudden pain. "But…"

"I know you do not have good memories of your family home," Dumbledore said while Sirius tried to find his tongue, "but it does afford great protection, especially to its master. And if I was to add the Fidelius to its wards, you would both be well-protected there."

The thought of going back to Grimmauld Place made Sirius' skin prickle, but to spend the holiday with Harry—to leave this godforsaken cave and have a proper holiday…

It would be worth it.

\--

"It isn't any wonder you never invited us here."

Sirius smirked at Remus, at his friend's wrinkled nose. "It isn't that bad…"

"It's worse. Christ, Sirius, there are _heads…_ "

"All the Black family house-elves for generations… back to the days of Merlin."

Remus stared at him, and Sirius chuckled. "Genealogy is very important in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," he said with a grand nod. "I can name all of them for you if you'd like."

"No thank you," Remus said with a little sniff. He took a large step back from the wall. "Are you certain you want to bring Harry here?"

"What? You don't think he'll like it?"

"I think he will run screaming in the other direction."

Sirius' grin faltered.

"He won't," Remus amended quickly. "He will be thrilled to be with you. It is just a bit..."

"Creepy," Sirius finished with a sigh. "Always thought so. My mother could never understand why I didn't like to have my lessons in here with the tutor. Though honestly… the rest of the house isn't much better." He gripped the back of his neck, grimacing. "Maybe you're right, though. This isn't exactly the sort of place a kid would dream of visiting."

"Harry isn't going to care," Remus said, all humour gone from his tone. "He isn't coming to see your house, Padfoot."

"Don't call it mine so loudly," Sirius said with a dramatic shudder. "It might get ideas."

Remus laughed. "It's just a house. Four walls and mortar."

"Not this house," Sirius said as they passed the family crest on their way out; an enormous winged serpent devouring a lightning bolt. He closed the door behind them. "I swear to you it has a mind of its own. When Reg and I were little, the doors were always moving or disappearing all together. Can't tell you how many times we would get stuck in whichever room we were in. And I tell you, the walls would laugh at us. Damn house did it on purpose."

"I think wizards refer to it as magic," Remus said, smiling as they entered the library.

"Creepy," Sirius repeated, nodding gravely. The sentiment was punctuated as the sconces along the walls flared to life. The glare momentarily blinded Remus and he stumbled. He muttered an oath as his knee smacked into the desk.

"See what I mean?" Sirius said as Remus rubbed at the knee cap. Remus froze as a low rumble echoed through the room.

"Bloody hell…"

Sirius shrugged at his friend's gaping. "Laughing, like I said."

Remus traversed the house much more carefully as they went through the rest of the lowest level, his eyes flicking into dark corners. Creepiness notwithstanding, it wasn't as awful as Sirius had been dreading. He was used to this place at least. And it did have four walls, unlike the cave.

And it was clean… or as clean as Dumbledore's house-elves had been able to manage in two days' time. And if they kept to the lower levels—

"Filthy traitor," a dark voice muttered as soon as they stepped into the kitchen. Blinking to adjust to the scattered sconces—again the house mocked him—Sirius grimaced as soon as he saw Kreacher.

"Is that…?"

"Yes."

Remus peered down at the scowling elf. Memories flooded Sirius then and it was an effort to force them away. Kreacher had once delighted in carrying out torments that Sirius' mother had been too busy to bother with.

"Traitor to his own blood," Kreacher mumbled, his eyes wet in the flickering candlelight. "Disgrace to his memory…"

"Just ignore him," Sirius said, though Remus was scowling himself now, no doubt remembering stories that had horrified him at fifteen. Although it seemed the years had rendered the elf relatively calm. At least he wasn't screeching. Or hurling hexes.

"Dishonors Kreacher's master…" the elf said belligerently, glaring backwards at them as he wandered up the short flight of stairs.

"Does he mean your father? His master?" Remus asked, still frowning.

But Sirius had already moved on to the cold cupboard; peering into its recesses. "I've no idea. I think Dumbledore's elves thought there were going to be a dozen people living here…"

"They probably just remember how much you liked to eat," Remus said over his shoulder. "You and James raided the kitchens often enough."

The familiar pang that was beginning to go along with any thought of James gripped Sirius heart. Forcing a nonchalant snort, he let the door close. "You act as if you weren't right there along with us."

"Under duress."

Sirius let that go. He put his hands to his hips, surveying the space. "You realize Harry is going to miss a homemade Christmas dinner…"

"So you'll make one together."

Sirius dropped his hands and glanced back at Remus. "You're joining us. Don't bother arguing." He didn't mention that this would be the first Christmas that they had spent together in thirteen years. Remus didn't either.

"For dinner," he conceded.

A tinny bell sounded; loud in the cavernous room. Sirius' stomach swooped. He gestured to the small brass bell by the doorway. "Front door," he explained as he pivoted. He took the set of stairs at a leap and jogged down through the labyrinth of corridors.

Footsteps echoed from the darkness and Harry emerged a moment later. A grin split his face as soon as he saw Sirius. Sirius, grinning himself, held out his arms. Without hesitation, Harry launched himself forward, nearly bowling Sirius over. Chuckling into his godson's tangles, Sirius hugged him tight.

"Can't believe I'm really here…"

Sirius gave him another squeeze before letting him step back. Harry's cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright. The grin hadn't diminished at all.

"Been having trouble believing it myself," Sirius murmured. He smiled at Dumbledore lurking in the shadows behind Harry. "I can't thank you enough."

"There is no need," the headmaster assured him. "Besides, Harry has already thanked me." His eyes sparkled. "At least a dozen times."

Harry's shoulders lifted in a sheepish shrug. "Mrs. Weasley was upset," he explained. "She yelled at him."

"Spoke sharply," Dumbledore corrected with a smile as he smoothed his fingers over the broad plum edging on his ivory robes. "She was a bit surprised to learn that you are, in fact, not a murderer."

Considerably less cheerful, Sirius nodded.

"She was more upset about losing Harry as a house guest, I imagine?" Remus asked, coming from behind Sirius. "Hello Harry."

"Hi Professor! I didn't know you were going to be here."

"Just for a brief tour of the house," Remus said with a gesture for the dingy walls. "And since I am no longer your professor, Remus will do."

"Oh right," Harry said with a quick nod. "Yes sir."

His humour restored, Sirius exchanged a glance with an equally-amused Remus and gave his godson's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "I'm glad you're here."

Harry grinned up at him.

"Remus," Dumbledore said, nodding at the other man, "I have some lovely new peppermint tea in my office if you would care to join me?"

"Absolutely," Remus agreed. He smiled at Harry as he fastened his cloak. "Enjoy your visit."

"Thanks. Are you having Christmas dinner with us then? Sirius said you were supposed to share a pie."

Remus smirked. "Did he? I think I could have done better than that, but yes, Sirius did invite me."

"Brilliant," Harry said. His brown eyes warm, Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder before joining Dumbledore.

"Have a very happy Christmas," the headmaster said and he and Remus disappeared down the corridor.

"So," Sirius said, meeting Harry's gaze, "this is my parents' house."

Harry squinted down the corridor. "You grew up here?"

"Unfortunately," Sirius said with grimace. "No one has lived here in nearly two decades though. I'm afraid everything is a bit manky… and my parents were rather fascinated by the dark arts so it isn't the most cheerful sort of house…"

"I think it's brilliant."

Sirius furrowed his brow, his lips caught in perplexity.

"I've only been in one other Wizarding house," Harry explained as they walked down the twisting corridors. "The Weasleys; it's amazing as well. They built it themselves, did you know that? And this one just appeared—out of nowhere like it was squeezed in between the other houses. I can't really believe magic sometimes, you know? And look, this one even has portraits. I still get startled sometimes when one of them starts talking to me at school…"

Unable to still his smile, Sirius didn't interrupt Harry's chatter, content to listen, only shushing him as they neared his mother's portrait after Harry asked to see Sirius' old room. "Don't want to wake her…"

They tiptoed past the curtains, thankfully with no sightings of Kreacher.

"What will she do if you wake her?" Harry whispered once they were clear.

"She was very colourful, my mother, and had a foul mouth like you would not believe. She and I didn't get on. Especially after I was sorted into Gryffindor. I was the first Gryffindor in the Black family for generations."

"Oh. They were Slytherins, weren't they?"

Sirius glanced at Harry. "Someone told you that?"

Shrugging, Harry said quietly, "Someone mentioned it once… when they thought you were a traitor."

Sirius pressed his lips together and decided not to comment on that. "My brother was a Slytherin; my parents were very proud of that."

"Where is he?"

"My brother?" Sirius paused with his hand on his bedroom's doorknob. "He died before you were born; Regulus was his name."

"Oh," Harry said softly. "I'm sorry."

Sirius half-smiled. "No need to be; we weren't close. Reckoned I was a traitor for siding with Dumbledore in the war."

Harry tilted his head. "Was he…?"

"A Death Eater." The affirmation was easier than he would have suspected. But then he hadn't thought of his little brother for years. But even so, perhaps it was senses dulled by memories of his own betrayal of James that made thoughts of Regulus mild.

Harry didn't respond and Sirius could see the questions swirling in his green eyes. "The family's house-elf told me Reg was poisoned." Sirius said.

"By Voldemort?"

Sirius shrugged, regret beginning to tinge his voice as he answered, "I never knew for certain, though I assumed as much." He opened the door with a bit of flourish. "My room," he announced. Harry grinned, the melancholy topics put to rest.

"Wow… you have loads of pictures; can't even see the wallpaper."

Sirius rested his shoulder against the wall, smiling as he watched Harry wandering along the walls. "My parents hated anything to do with Muggles… so of course I loved them."

"Is that why you had that motorbike?"

"How did you know about that?"

Harry glanced back at him. "Erm… well, I heard I guess."

Sirius' eyebrow went up; Harry flushed.

"I might have overheard Hagrid talking about it once…"

"Might have?" Sirius echoed, his lip quirking. "You were eavesdropping, then."

"Er… yeah. Nobody would tell me anything and they wouldn't let me go to Hogsmeade." He tripped over the words. "Mr. Weasley told me a few things but that didn't really help…"

Sirius sat on the bed, nodding as Harry chewed on his lower lip. "You must have been frustrated, only being told bits and pieces."

"I'm used to that; people not telling me things."

"People?" Sirius slid over and after a brief hesitation, Harry sat beside him. "Do you mean your relatives?"

"Them as well… they always told me my dad was a drunk—"

_"What?"_

"Yeah," Harry said, giving the affirmation with the ease of too many lies accepted, "and they said both of them died in a car accident."

Sirius stared at him, his mind reeling over that. "Your dad was not a drunk."

"Hagrid told me he wasn't," Harry said with a nod. He folded his legs up, his fingers playing with his laces as he continued, "The Dursleys don't like magic, so they just made up the bit about the car accident, but actually I don't even know if Aunt Petunia knew about Voldemort… Dumbledore never explained any of that either."

"Any of what?"

Harry shrugged. "He told me some things about Voldemort, but most of it I just sort of learned on my own, or with Hermione and Ron. And since he has tried to kill me twice now…" He smiled. "Well, seems I ought to know as much about him as I can."

Sirius didn't say anything for a long moment. Remus had filled him in on Harry's misadventures over the years; as much as he had known. And Dumbledore had told him the rest in the cave. He had already had his moments of outrage. And that wouldn't help Harry now.

"If there is anything you still want to know about Voldemort," he said seriously, "I will tell you as much as I can. And that goes for any other subject."

"Any subject?" Harry asked, his eyes sparkling though even through the mirth, Sirius read the pleasure in his face.

"Yes indeed," Sirius said, keeping a solemn face. "Quidditch, History of Magic, motorcycles, girls." He waved at the pictures of the scantily-clad Muggle girls adorning his walls; all of which he had stuck there in anticipation of his mother's screeched ire.

Harry's cheeks immediately lit on fire as he gaped. "Er…"

"Or boys," Sirius amended. Harry shook his head.

"No, that's not… I mean, girls are..." His face, already impossibly rosy, darkened.

Sirius leaned forward, his eyebrows waggling. "Girls are?" he prompted. "Any girl in particular we're speaking of?"

"Oy!" Harry said, straightening indignantly. "We weren't speaking of girls."

Sirius smiled. "Weren't we? I am fairly certain you were about to tell me the lucky girl who has stolen your heart. Not Hermione, I think; since Ron fancies her."

Harry's eyebrows scrunched, the blush beginning to recede. "Hermione?"

"Hadn't you noticed?"

"Hermione?" Harry repeated, shaking his head. "Ron barely tolerates Hermione half the time, and the other half they're arguing."

"Yes, I know. They remind me of your mum and dad." As soon as Sirius said it, he wished he hadn't. But it wasn't Harry's fault that thinking about James was impossible. "It took Lily years to realize she loved your dad," he explained quickly. "I think Hermione and Ron will realize it eventually."

While Harry mulled that over, Sirius stood and hooked a thumb at the door. "I have a box of pictures downstairs if you'd like to see them."

Harry grinned as he popped up. "Hagrid gave me a picture of my parents, but that's the only one I have."

"I have quite a few," Sirius said as they went down the stairs together. "I thought we would sleep in the lower levels so we wouldn't risk disturbing my mother. And Dumbledore's elves could only clean so much with such short notice—"

"Filthy traitor!"

Sirius sighed as Harry cringed at the hoarse cry. Kreacher was standing in front of the portrait of Sirius' mother. She had already begun her litany of insults.

"Heir of my blood you are not!" she raged. "And that foul little Mudblood, how dare you! I should have left you to rot!"

The words continued, but Sirius grabbed Harry's arm with one hand, pulled his wand with the other and shot a spell to send her into silence as they jogged down the stairs. Behind them, they could hear Kreacher muttering, "… brought that vile boy here…"

"Sorry about that," Sirius murmured as he pocketed his wand and shoved a lock of hair out of his eyes. "That was my family's house-elf, Kreacher. I'm afraid he isn't very fond of me either."

Harry slid his hands into his back pockets, the same frown on his face that Sirius had begun to associate with Harry's deepest pondering. "It must have been really hard for you," he finally said. "Being different I mean."

"The Blacks are a very old family," Sirius said, brushing aside a cobweb and guiding Harry ahead of him into the library where he and Remus had transferred two of the beds. "To them, blood is the most important thing, along with family loyalty. My parents, my mother especially, taught my brother and me to despise anyone who wasn't pureblooded." He cracked a smile. "It never stuck with me, much to my mother's chagrin."

Chagrin, rage… What difference was there?

"It was the same with the Dursleys?" Sirius asked.

"They wanted me to hate magic I think."

Sirius nodded. Watching Harry closely, he said, "My mother punished me for anything she considered to be beneath my breeding."

Harry's eyes darted to Sirius. "Sometimes," he said quietly, his gaze going back to the books lining the towering shelves, "strange things would happen—things they couldn't explain like my teacher's hair turning blue—and they would punish me for it."

Wishing he could inflict a painful series of curses on Petunia and her husband, Sirius said, "It's perfectly normal for a Wizarding child to perform magic accidentally. Petunia would have known that. They should not have punished you for it. You didn't do anything wrong."

Harry nodded.

"Did they hurt you?" For a moment, Sirius was afraid he had pushed too far, but Harry simply shook his head.

"Uncle Vernon is all bluster."

Sirius peered at his godson's face, undecided whether or not to believe him. But Harry's fidgeting signaled to Sirius that it was best to move on for now. So he led them over to one of the beds where a dusty box was waiting for them.

"Dumbledore secured my personal affects for me; the ones that were confiscated. Mostly pictures, a few letters—"

"It's my dad!" Harry scooped up the first frame. He laughed. "What were you doing?" James and Sirius were making faces at the camera, both caked in mud.

"Had a bit of a wrestling match on the way home from Hogsmeade," Sirius remembered with a smile. "It was raining."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen. It was our first trip to Hogsmeade."

"He's not wearing his spectacles," Harry mused. "Did he always have them?"

"Since I knew him; think he lost them in the mud…"

Harry had moved on to the next picture, and didn't protest as Sirius took the first. James had his younger self in a headlock, while Sirius made a face as if he was being strangled. Without the black frames, the resemblance was startling. Sirius' automatic smile was cut through by the remorse building in his chest.

Why in bloody hell had he asked Pomfrey to release the memory?

He didn't need to know. And now he was destined to go through the rest of his life swimming in guilt every time he—

"Look at this one, Sirius," Harry said eagerly. He waved one of the photographs as if he had just won the grand prize. "It's their wedding day. I wish Hagrid had had one of these. Your hair was really short," he mused, glancing between the picture and Sirius' face.

"I used to wear it shorter back then…" He cleared his throat. "It's yours if you want it."

Harry flashed him a grin. "Yeah?"

At Sirius' nod, Harry set the picture aside carefully and continued to dig through the box. "Hey, this is me!"

"Ah," Sirius murmured, a slow smile spreading without his permission. "That," he said, his finger tapping the photograph, "I had with me all the while I was in Azkaban." He patted his breast pocket. He ignored the grief and guilt as they surged up. Harry's smile was much more important.

"The letter was written by your mum."

"You gave me my first broom." Harry's eyes were sparkling again.

"It was my duty as your godfather," Sirius said, rumpling Harry's hair. Harry grinned and returned to the letter, reading it over and over as far as Sirius could tell.

And when he finally looked up, he said, "This is brilliant you know."

"The letter?"

But Harry shook his head. "Well, yeah that is brilliant but I mean being here. This is the best Christmas I've ever had."

Sirius laughed. "It's not even Christmas until tomorrow, nutter. But speaking of, we do need to trim the tree. Dumbledore brought us one to rival Hogwarts'."

Harry's face lit up. "You have a tree?"

Sirius grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him up. "We have a tree."

\--

Truth be told, Sirius had never enjoyed trimming a tree quite so much. Not even at the Potters'. Probably because he and James were usually scolded by Mrs. Potter for their improvements. Mr. Potter had been considerably more impressed, of course.

He and Harry were watching the tree's candles flickering shadows against the walls, both of them nursing mugs of cocoa. Harry was laughing at Sirius' insistence that Father Christmas was a wizard.

"He was not, Sirius."

"Of course he was. How else do you think he managed to deliver presents to the entire world in one night? And elves, Harry?" Sirius made pointed eyebrows and Harry finally began to look thoughtful.

"Where is he now then?"

"Well, he would have died by now, of course. Pity he didn't have any children to succeed him…"

Harry snorted. "He's not the king."

"Right," Sirius agreed, "but he could have trained an apprentice at the very least. Imagine the response he could have got if only he had put up an advertisement in the Prophet."

"You're mad," Harry said into his cocoa. He eyed Sirius over the rim. "But I can't decide if you really believe it."

Sirius waggled his eyebrows, his smile mysterious. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Is there anything special you would like to do tomorrow?" Sirius asked as he set his mug aside, all seriousness now.

Harry's forehead wrinkled in thought, but he shook his head.

"We have a goose for dinner… and the elves filled the cold cupboard with more pies than we could eat in a week." Sirius smiled. "I've never actually cooked a goose, so we might need that pie."

"The Hogswarts' elves make a brilliant mince-meat," Harry said, grinning along with him, "so you aren't going to hear any complaints from me."

"You are remarkably easy to please," Sirius said, nudging his godson's chin with his knuckles. "I don't suppose you will protest even if I say it's nearly half-ten and I'm knackered?"

"Oy, you mean I have to go to sleep as well?"

"Yes," Sirius said, smiling at the mischievous question. "Though I hope you won't mind sharing the library; don't think I snore…"

"You can't be worse than Neville," Harry said, standing and taking in a wide yawn. "And Ron talks in his sleep."

"Well if I start chatting with you, just cast a Silencing Charm."

Harry smiled. "I'm not allowed to use my wand out of Hogwarts. I'll just hit you over the head with a pillow."

Sirius smirked. "Fair enough. And not that I am suggesting you break the rules, but—" He winked. "—the Ministry can't detect a wand being used here. There are too many privacy wards. As far as anyone else besides Dumbledore and Remus knows, this house doesn't even exist."

"Because of the Fidelius?"

"That made the wards even stronger, yes, but when this house was built, it was cast with so many protection charms no one could detect it then either. And my father added even more. Blacks are notoriously paranoid."

"When was it built?" Harry asked. He had opened his book bag and was rummaging for pyjamas.

"1824," Sirius answered automatically, the history of the ancestral home drilled into him since before he could even understand the lessons. "Here," he said once Harry had wadded his night clothes into a fist, "there is a toilet right here in the library; the house has seven, though I never understand why we needed so many."

He undid the buttons on his shirt while Harry was ensconced in the loo, the first formal shirt he had worn in longer than a decade. And though it was his father's, it was infinitely better than the rags.

His father's pyjamas were an improvement as well, though he felt a little silly in the broad stripes. Harry grinned at him as soon as he emerged. "Did you steal those from Mr. Weasley?"

Sirius sighed dramatically. "Oy… I knew they were awful."

"No, they're not," Harry said, still smiling. "I didn't say I don't like Mr. Weasley's pyjamas, did I?" Unsuccessfully dodging Sirius' finger to his ribs, he laughed. "Which bed is mine?" he asked once his mirth had drained.

"Whichever one you like."

Harry dropped onto the one closest and wiggled under the covers, pausing to pull his glasses off. His gaze darted around the room when he found no table on which to deposit them. Sirius held out a palm. "I'll put them on the desk."

"Thanks…"

Once the glasses were safe and Sirius was under his own quilt, he waved his hand and the sconces turned down, leaving only a low glow along the farthest wall.

Sirius propped himself up on an elbow, smiling at Harry, who was gazing at him across the space. "Wake me if you need anything. And don't break your neck just so you don't have to cast a Lumos." Harry's smile was easy to detect even in the dim light.

"I won't."

"Good. And," Sirius added, "if you hear any footsteps on the roof or bells ringing in the night, we'll just assume Father Christmas found that apprentice after all."

Harry grinned. "I'll be sure to wake you then. Night, Sirius."

"Night, mate."

Sirius lay awake for a long time, long after Harry's breathing evened out in sleep. And though insomnia often plagued him—had since his days in Azkaban—he didn't mind at all.

He didn't want to dream of Lily again.

\--

Sirius was awake long before Harry, having given up on sleep after waking up several times in the middle of memories he wished he could forget. Except that this time, James had been in those dreams, his face haunted and fully betrayed.

"Morning…"

Sirius looked up from the book he had chosen from the shelves, one he had never had the chance to read as a child living here.

"Happy Christmas," Sirius said, smiling as he closed the book. Harry's hair was wild, reminding Sirius even more of James. Harry gave him a drowsy smile.

"Happy Christmas," he mumbled. His lip quirked. "Didn't hear any reindeer…"

"You slept right through it. An entire herd was up there just before dawn."

"I'm beginning to think you actually do believe it," Harry said as he threw back the covers. "But don't worry; I won't tell anyone. Don't want someone to think you're mental."

"The Weasleys and Hermione are the only people you could tell and I reckon they already think so."

"What about Lupin?"

"Remus," Sirius corrected as he stood. He gave Harry a little nudge toward the toilet. "And he knows all about St. Nicholas, so you haven't a hope of convincing him I'm mental. Now jiffy up so we can open gifts. I've been waiting for ages."

"That's right!" Harry said, flashing a grin before he ducked into the loo. He was out again in record time. The tree, its tiny candles still winking, greeted them. Harry scooped up the small parcel that Pomfrey had given to Sirius.

"It's a bit silly," Harry said, his fingernail running under the edge of the newsprint wrapping, his gaze fixed to the ink. "But Hermione said you might like it and I didn't really have a chance to buy anything…"

"I'm certain I'll love it," Sirius said with a soft smile and Harry looked up. Sirius held out a palm.

"We had to shrink it so you would be able to keep it in your pocket," Harry explained as he gave it over.

"Clever of you," Sirius said. Harry settled back on his heels, his fingers caught together as he watched Sirius peel the wrapping back. A slow smile spread over Sirius' face.

"It's the Firebolt you gave me," Harry explained, though there wasn't any need to. "One of the other Gryffindors took the picture."

Harry, with his hair slicked back from the wind, was riding the broom mid-flight. As Sirius watched the scene, there was the slightest glint of gold and then Harry was grinning as he held up a Snitch in triumph.

"That was our last match last year… The Firebolt was brilliant."

Sirius nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet, though he had no idea why the simple gift should make his throat swell. "I was there… you were brilliant."

"You were?"

"I watched all of your matches," Sirius said with a smile. "That's how I knew your Nimbus was destroyed. Thank you very much for this," he murmured as he ran his thumb down the wood frame. It was the only recent picture he had of Harry. He smiled at Harry's pleased grin and said, "Open one of yours."

There were half a dozen gifts for Harry under the tree, but he chose Sirius'. "It's tradition to give a wizard a watch when he's seventeen," Sirius said as Harry lifted the gold watch from its nest of delicate paper, "but my father gave Reg and me ours when we went to Hogwarts and that was one of the only Black family traditions that actually made sense to me. And when I noticed you didn't have one..." He shrugged, but Harry was smiling so he thought he had made the right choice.

"Hermione is always telling Ron and me that we need one. Ron says that he'll be on time seventh year," Harry said with a snort.

"Exactly my father's point," Sirius said, smiling. The memory of his father giving him the watch was a rare pleasant one. Of course, the scathing letter he had received once Gryffindor had claimed him had rather obliterated any lingering good feelings.

Harry had already put the watch on his wrist and was watching the second hand tick its way round. Sirius leaned back against the stiff sofa, smiling to himself. "Would you like to open the rest?"

Harry made quick work of his other gifts, smiling over Mrs. Weasley's jumper and Hermione's book. Ron gave him a bag of dungbombs.

"Filch will love those," Sirius muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Harry laughed as he closed up the sack and they could both breathe again. "What would you like for breakfast?" Sirius asked after he had tucked the picture of Harry in his pocket.

"Eggs, I guess," Harry said with a shrug.

"Eggs? It's Christmas," Sirius chided. "We need something festive," he insisted as he pulled Harry along with him toward the kitchen.

"Do you know how to make anything festive?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"I know how to read a recipe…"

"It's a start."

Sirius slung an arm round his shoulders and they went down to the basement kitchen together.

They were still there when Remus arrived several hours later for dinner, both of them elbows-deep in flour.

"What's this?"

"Happy Christmas," Sirius and Harry greeted him in unison. "We discovered we like to bake," Sirius said, holding up his white hands. "We're making biscuits."

"Biscuits? You?"

"Yeah," Harry explained, "once we managed waffles this morning, Sirius wanted to try sticky buns. And he said my mum used to make a crescent-shaped biscuit with walnuts inside so we made that one up." He pointed to a stack of misshapen crescents. "They're good," Harry insisted. "Sirius should have been a house-elf."

Sirius swatted Harry's head gently, leaving a dusting of white over the dark hair. "What?" Harry demanded. "They would be a hit at Hogwarts."

Remus smiled as he shed his robes. "How can I help?"

"Dressing," Sirius said, gesturing with an elbow to the waiting cubes of bread. "For the goose."

Remus rolled up his sleeves and set to work. The three of them worked quite well together, the easy atmosphere keeping unwanted thoughts at bay. It wasn't until Kreacher limped in as they were sitting down to dinner that Sirius even remembered he was in his parents' house.

"Foul traitors," he muttered as he trudged past, his liquid eyes lingering over Harry. "Staining the great name of the Blacks… Mistress is most distressed… A Mudblood…"

Sirius was about to order the elf silent but Kreacher disappeared into his self-appointed quarters before he could.

"Maybe you ought to give him clothes," Harry suggested.

"I tried that as soon as we arrived." Sirius shook his head. "He refused them because he didn't want to leave my mother."

"Oh."

"Best to ignore him," Sirius sighed as he took a carving knife to the goose, which looked perfectly delicious. "Look at this goose," he said, gesturing with the point of the knife. "Wouldn't even know we had never made one before today. Let's tuck in, shall we?"

For a first attempt with most of the dishes, dinner was quite good; judging by the amount Harry ate. And once they were finished and the dishes put away, they curled up with spiced eggnog in the parlour listening to carols on the enchanted gramophone while they played Sirius' favorite game as a child, Six and Half Knuts.

"And that's six," Sirius said, grinning as he plunked his coin on the towering stack in the middle of the table. "Anyone have enough for a half?"

Remus and Harry shared a glance. Sirius chuckled at their morose expressions. "I win, I'm afraid. But it was a lovely attempt."

"You always won when we were children," Remus sighed. "I'm still convinced he cheats," he said to Harry.

"Don't be a sore loser, Moony," Sirius chided. "You'll set a bad example for the kid."

Harry laughed and poked the coin tower, sending them in a cascade over the table's surface.

"Well," Remus said, still smiling, "I had best be on my way. It's late."

"I'll walk you out," Sirius said. He scooped up a knut from the carpet and tossed it to Harry, who was already yawning. "Don't fall asleep… you'll get a crick."

"Won't," Harry said lazily as he stretched out. "Night Remus."

"Goodnight Harry," Remus said from the doorway. "You gave him a lovely Christmas," he said to Sirius as he fastened his cloak at the door.

"I hope so." Sirius gave him the parcels of food that Harry had insisted Remus take along.

"You did."

Sirius smiled.

"Happy Christmas," Remus said, squeezing Sirius' shoulder. "I will see you at the new year," he added before he slipped out into the darkness.

Smiling to himself, Sirius trekked back down the corridor. Harry's eyes were closed. Sirius pushed his fringe away from his forehead, gaze tracing over the thin lightning bolt; Harry opened his eyes.

"Bedtime," Sirius said with a soft smile. His godson yawned.

"But it's all the way down the corridor," he complained under his breath, but he stood anyway, padding after Sirius to the library. Foregoing pyjamas, he flopped onto the bed, his face half-smushed in the pillow.

Drawing the quilt over Harry's stocking feet and up to his shoulders, Sirius pressed a kiss to the messy hair. "Happy Christmas."

Harry, not quite lost to sleep, smiled. "Thanks…"

Sirius slept easier that night.

\--

Harry was already up and the bed made when Sirius woke the next morning. Once he was dressed, Sirius went to find him, calling for him when he found the parlour empty.

Farther along the corridor, one of the doors was open. Harry glanced back at him when Sirius stuck his head in. "What are you doing?" Sirius asked.

"Sorry, I was just wandering."

"No need to apologize." Sirius smiled. "Such as it is, I want you to feel at home here."

"What is this?" Harry asked, gesturing to the fabric covering all four walls.

"Family tree," Sirius said as he came forward. "Have you ever seen one?"

Harry shook his head.

"My father's great-grandmother wove the tapestry and the magic into it—" Sirius' hand ghosted over the oldest name, "—when they built the house, adding the names as far back as the middle ages. And since then, it has added the names as new generations are born, along with the marriages as they happen."

"On its own?"

"Yes, though my mother regretted that. See here," Sirius said as he nodded, "my mother's brother had three children and one of them, Andromeda, married a Muggleborn—as soon as his name appeared, my mother burned it off; Andromeda's as well because as far as my mother was concerned she was a traitor. Later when Andromeda had a daughter, she was blasted off as well. You can still see their names though."

Harry squinted at the charred pictures, his finger tracing along one of the upper rows of names. "That's your mother?" he asked, finding Walburga's name, connected by a thin thread to Sirius' father, Orion. "And there you are. But…"

Harry trailed off and Sirius moved closer, scanning to find what had caught Harry's attention. He froze, ice filling his veins.

Woven into the tapestry, as clear as the rest of the names, **Sirius Orion Black** in dark thread, the same as it had always been. But now…

He steadied himself with a palm against the wall, his heartbeat erratic. **Lily Evans Potter** was connected to his name by a thin thread. And below, connected by another line in the same way Sirius' name was connected to his parents' name, was Harry's.


	5. Now a Childless Father

Sirius turned slowly, but Harry was still staring at the tapestry. "That can't be right," he said slowly, sounding to Sirius like he was speaking into the wind. "Why is Mum..." Whatever he saw on Sirius' face swallowed the rest of the question.

"I can explain—"

"Explain?" Harry's brows crumpled. "How do you mean? I thought you said names appeared together when two people married?"

Sirius' throat was dry, his tongue sand. And when he spoke, the words were faint, "Or had a child together…"

Harry didn't react. And then in slow motion, while Sirius struggled for sense, Harry blinked. Shook his head, his lips parting on silence. "I don't…" he finally said hoarsely. " _Together?_ "

"Harry…" There was no sense here and that was probably why Sirius couldn't breathe.

James' son. Harry was _James'_ son.

But there was Lily's name connected to his own. And Harry's.

The lineage woven into the tapestry by magic so ancient and powerful, Sirius knew he was staring at truth.

Harry was still shaking his head as his eyes darted to his name and back again to Sirius. "You and _Mum_?"

"Harry," Sirius said, "I know it is a shock but I can explain—"

"But… why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know," Sirius reached out but Harry bumped the wall as he stepped back; Sirius swallowed. "It wasn't until a few days ago that I even remembered it happened—"

"You forgot you had an affair with my mum?" Harry's cheeks were splotched red, his voice unable to decide where to settle.

"It wasn't what you think—" Harry tried to interrupt but Sirius shook his head. "Harry, I never would have knowingly betrayed James, you have to believe that. Dumbledore told us he was dead—"

Harry was gaping again. "Dead? But Hagrid told me that my dad died trying to stop Voldemort that night. Everyone told me—"

"No, no," Sirius said, his voice thin as he tried to explain. "He wasn't dead, not that night, Harry we only thought he had died and your mother and I were so distraught..."

"You were so distraught, you _forgot_ about it?" Harry's voice was impossibly high.

"I didn't know… not until a few days ago, after I hurt myself in Hogsmeade and Pomfrey found a memory that was locked up—"

"Locked up?" It was beginning to sound like the room was enchanted with a deranged echo.

"Harry, you have to understand—"

"But my dad…" Harry shook his head, his eyes beginning to glaze as if he was running a fever. "I thought he was your best friend…"

"He was," Sirius whispered as pain exploded in his chest.

"But how could you… I mean…" Harry's cheeks were bright red now. "You had an affair with my mother!"

"We thought James was dead," Sirius was tripping all over the words. "There was an explosion and—"

"So you thought he was dead so you _slept_ with her?" Harry whispered. "You and Mum…"

"Harry please, I can explain—"

"I can't believe this," Harry spat as he turned away. Sirius fell silent, as filled with distress at the betrayal of James as Harry obviously was. He wasn't prepared for Harry's next words. "All this time…" Harry's voice was hoarse. "All this time you've been…"

"I know, Harry, I-"

Harry's head jerked up. "You don't know," he said as he shook his head. "You weren't there. You didn't have to live with the Dursleys."

Sirius swallowed. "I'm sorry-"

" _Sorry_?" Harry said loudly. He punched out a breath and shook his head. "This is bullshit," he muttered and before Sirius could decipher what that meant, Harry brushed past him. His rapid footsteps echoed down the corridor.

\--

It had been over an hour. Sirius drummed his fingers against the table as he stared at the crawling clock hands. More than an hour since he had started watching the clock. He had no idea how long he had stayed in the tapestry room, or how many times he had traversed the myriad stairs, up and down.

He didn't know how long he should wait.

How much time did Harry need?

_What am I going to say to him?_

Too many emotions were clamoring for space though and as quickly as the thoughts popped up, they darted out again.

_Harry is my son._

This was worse than a simple betrayal.

_I should have known._

I should have tried to find out for certain.

_He looks like James._

Sirius dropped his face into his hands; the ticking clock pounded against his temples until his veins protested the burgeoning headache. Beginning to feel like a coward hiding in the kitchen, he stood. He curled his fingers to still their shaking as he went up the stairs.

Everything was going to be all right.

Harry was still Harry, and that was all that mattered. As soon as he explained and then apologized again Harry would understand that nothing had changed. Even if Sirius had made a dreadful mistake. If Harry could forgive him—

He paused outside the parlour. It was empty. His brow furrowed, he navigated the corridors to the library, but Harry wasn't there either. And except for the elf heads, the dining room was vacant as well.

"Harry?" he called, his efforts to calm himself useless as his heartbeat spiked. There were dozens of rooms in this house, after all.

The first floor was empty. The second full of dust and spiders.

"Harry!"

Taking the stairs at a jog now, he ignored the screeching from his mother's portrait as the curtains flew open. He opened every door on the third floor.

The last flight of stairs and Sirius' heart was pounding frantically. " _Harry!_ "

His empty room mocked him.

And Regulus'.

Desperate, Sirius' voice came out sharply as he shouted, "Kreacher!"

The house-elf appeared in front of him, his wide eyes wet and blinking. "Master summoned Kreacher?" he asked in that wobbly voice Sirius hated so much.

"Where is Harry? _Harry_ ," he said through his teeth when the elf continued to blink at him. "The boy who was with me. Harry Potter. Have you seen him?"

"Master's Mudblood son," Kreacher sniffed, "has left."

"Left? Where did he go?"

"Kreacher does not know."

Barely restraining himself from shaking the house-elf, Sirius demanded, "How do you know he left?"

"Kreacher saw Master Harry leave." Kreacher turned away, muttering, "Mistress is very glad to be rid of that Mudblood filth—"

Knowing he should wonder how the damn elf had known that Harry was his son, Sirius put that from his mind and transformed into Padfoot, bounding past Kreacher so fast that the elf had to grab the banister to keep from falling.

He darted past his mother's portrait—she was still screaming but Padfoot blocked out the obscenities and put his nose to the wooden beams once he skidded onto the first floor.

Harry's scent was everywhere.

Since Dumbledore and Harry had Apparated here, the scent shouldn't be anywhere outside except the stoop. At the front door, Padfoot turned the knob with a giant paw and slipped outside, blinking in the morning sun. There were a few Muggles about, but none of them spared him more than a glance even though he would have seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Padfoot followed Harry's trail down the steps and onto the walk, his anxiety spurring him onward through the streets of London. Where the hell had Harry gone?

_Without even telling me._

But Sirius was far too worried for anger to take hold. At least until he had passed King's Cross and realized some time later that Harry's scent was leading him straight to Charing Cross Road and the Leaky Cauldron—and bloody Diagon Alley.

There were no other consistent scents to indicate that Harry had either been pursued here or brought without his permission. Didn't Harry realize that it was bloody stupid to wander in strange cities? Especially when someone wished him harm?

Growling low in his throat, Padfoot finally rounded the corner of a small pub and down the dark alley beside. Keeping himself to the wall, he transformed in shadow. As soon as he had cast a Disillusionment Charm, he transformed again and had a rare wish that he took a smaller form.

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded—as it would be the day after Christmas. The Wizarding street was worse; his paws and tail were trampled on more than once. Harry's trail sent him all over, mixing him up sometimes and he would have to find the trail all over again, though at least Harry had had the sense to stay away from Knockturn Alley.

And when Padfoot began to think the search was impossible, he found two familiar scents—Hermione and Ron. There were several others that mingled with them, all of them similar to Ron's. Probably the entire Weasley family.

The trail ended at the entrance to the Floo exchange.

\--

Padfoot found Harry's scent at an odd little house's back door once he Apparated nearby. Hermione's and Ron's were tangled with it. Of course.

The trail snaked along the garden wall, jumped it at one point and finally led him to a shed—or a garage that looked better suited to a Muggle neighborhood than to a house that was obviously a tangled labor of magic and love.

He had a moment's worry that maybe Harry wasn't inside, that he had got it wrong somehow and with an impatient paw, he opened the door. Whispered voices met his ears and yes, there was Harry.

Sitting on a stack of Muggle tires, with his two shadows on either side, their heads bent close together.

Padfoot closed his eyes, relief and anger colliding so that his chest constricted and heaved in the same instant. He was fully human in the next instant.

Hermione looked up. Her eyes widened, which drew Harry's attention. And his face went through several expressions, finally settling on anger. But before he could speak, Sirius demanded, "What were you thinking, leaving like that?"

"I—"

"I had no idea where you were," Sirius ploughed right over Harry. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? I had to follow your scent here, wandering all over London. You're lucky I found you at all!" His voice had risen and by the time the last words emerged, Harry was cringing.

Gritting his teeth against any more of his temper, Sirius said tightly, "You had no business leaving without telling me where you were going, Harry. And when you know something strange is—"

"I spent the entire summer on my own in Surrey," Harry finally found his voice. "And _nobody_ cared about that." He slid off his perch while Sirius stared at him. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm fine."

"He didn't mean to come here," Hermione offered softly.

"Yeah," Ron added in an oddly strained voice, "My family was in Diagon Alley and—"

"It doesn't matter," Harry cut him off brusquely. "You don't have to explain it to him."

Sirius frowned. But before he could figure out what to say to that, Harry gestured for his friends to follow him. While they vacillated, Sirius caught Harry's arm, curling his fingers around the elbow when Harry tried to shake him off.

"Listen Harry, I know you're angry with me but you can't pretend—"

"Pretend what?" Harry demanded, finding the strength to yank his arm away. "Pretend like I don't care about this, just like you pretended?"

Unsure what to do with his hands now, Sirius let them dangle by his sides. "Harry, I told you I didn't know…" He trailed off, remembering they weren't alone.

"I told them everything," Harry said, his jaw set in a dark line. 

Sirius' throat was beginning to ache but he nodded, his hands finally finding a place under his armpits. "All right," he said, suddenly unable to look at Harry's friends. "But we still need to talk about this; I want you to understand what happened."

"I understand," Harry said, turning his eyes to the two yellow ducks attached to one of the walls. "You had an affair with my mother. And somehow you forgot about it and then when you remembered it again, you didn't tell me. That's everything, yeah?"

Harry's hands were balled into fists, but there was anxiety in his eyes and it made Sirius' chest tighten. "No, it isn't," he said quietly. "I didn't forget—it's not that simple. And I was as shocked as you when I saw the tapestry."

Harry rounded. "Are you even certain now? It's just some fabric. It might not even be—"

"It is," Sirius interrupted, wanting to put a hand on Harry's shoulder; as if that might steady him—both of them. "That magic can't make a mistake. But we can use a potion to test for paternity if you like…"

Harry's laugh was strangled. "For what? To tell me that I've had a father for thirteen years while I was Dudley's punching bag—" Sirius flinched. "—and living in a cupboard, dreaming of parents that weren't even mine to begin with! What good does any of that do now?"

"You have no idea how sorry I am," Sirius said on a whisper, "that you had to endure that. If I could have done something—"

"Well, you didn't," Harry snapped. "And you can't do anything now either, can you? So it doesn't really matter."

"It matters a great deal to me."

"I don't think your wishes are the most important here," a new voice startled Sirius. He turned, finding Molly and Arthur Weasley, with Ginny, standing in the doorway. "I have already informed Professor Dumbledore that Harry is with us," she said. "There is no need for you to stay."

"With respect," Sirius said through a jaw that was now clenched, "Harry is supposed to be with me."

"I'm not coming," Harry said, glaring at Sirius now.

Holding on to his last shred of patience, Sirius muttered, "You are."

"Why?" Harry asked, his expression suddenly ugly. "Because you're my father?"

"No," Sirius snapped, "because I don't want to have this conversation here."

"Then leave."

Sirius' teeth ground together. "Harry-"

"Harry?"

Sirius had never heard that mocking tone from Harry and it made him feel lost somehow, but Harry wasn't done.

"Is that the name you would have chosen?" he said, his lips twisting again. "Or would it have been some sort of name more fit for a Black? You know, if you had given a damn about me after you shagged my mother?"

"Harry…"

Hermione's shocked whisper was immediately drowned out by Harry's growled, "It's the truth isn't it, Sirius? You didn't care about her and you betrayed your best friend-"

"That's enough," Sirius breathed, feeling as though his lungs were collapsing. Even through the pain that was knifing him through the chest, he shook his head. "We can talk about this at home—"

"It isn't my home; it's yours. And I'm not going with you." They stood staring at one another, Harry's fury eclipsing Sirius' without any effort.

"I am very sorry," Sirius said very quietly. "For hurting you; and for not being there all those years… but you have to know that I love you very much. And that doesn't have anything to do with sharing blood." Harry continued to glare at him and Sirius found the next words nearly impossible. "If you want to stay here… If Molly doesn't mind…"

"Of course we don't," Molly murmured. She went to Harry, her arm curling about his shoulders and bringing him close as if she had been waiting for it.

Five pairs of eyes stared at Sirius; Harry had turned his gaze to the wall again. His jaw was trembling, though with anger or pain, Sirius couldn't tell.

"We will take care of him," Molly said, setting her jaw. "This is his home."

"Harry?" Sirius' voice warbled and if had had any dignity left, he might have cared. But Harry wouldn't look at him and there was nothing left for Sirius to do but leave.

\--

Number Twelve was more immense than Sirius had ever imagined. There were too many rooms, too many echoes. But there was no reason to leave. No reason for anything at all. And when Dumbledore arrived in lime robes, he almost couldn't find the strength to explain. But the headmaster accepted the news with the same aplomb with which he did everything else.

"Might I see the tapestry?" he asked after he had absorbed the shock. So Sirius led him through the corridors, his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched as Dumbledore traced their names.

**Harry James Potter.**

It was the lowest name on the tapestry.

The heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

The threads seemed darker, ominous as a storm cloud.

_He is my son. He is a Black, just as surely as I am._

Impossible pain spread up from his chest until his throat closed around it.

"I imagine it was difficult for Harry to understand," Dumbledore murmured. "How grief affects a person... especially in times of war."

"I don't expect him to," Sirius said, his voice rusty in the quiet. "What I did…"

Dumbledore turned. "What you did was not an act of betrayal, Sirius," he said. "Or cruelty. You cared for Lily in the only way you could. You were both devastated by the apparent loss of James. No one could hold you at fault."

Sirius' lip twisted. "No one except James and Harry."

"You believe Harry will reject you?" Dumbledore asked, his snowy eyebrows colliding. "That he, of all children, will not be happy to have a living father?"

But Sirius shook his head. "He refused to return with me."

"The shock will wear off." Dumbledore rested a gentle hand on his arm. "Harry has a quick temper, but one which recedes just as quickly. I do not think he will stay away for long."

But the day wore into night, and moonlight into sunrise. And when the bell in the kitchen announced a visitor sometime after that, Sirius stumbled, bleary-eyed, up the steps and through the murky corridors.

Remus was feeling his way along the walls but as soon as he saw Sirius, he halted. And when Sirius saw his face, he knew that Remus knew everything. "Fuck," Sirius muttered to no one in particular. "I'm sorry—"

"You look like shit," Remus said. He took Sirius by the elbow, tugged until Sirius had no choice but to go along to the parlour. "Why the hell are you apologizing to me, you git?"

Sirius blinked at him, found no ready answer and was pushed lightly into the chair by the fire.

"You don't owe me one, you know. And if it is because you hadn't told me yet—"

"I should have," Sirius said as he slumped into the chair. "Couldn't though… bloody coward, I am."

"You are not a coward," Remus said calmly; too calmly. "And you've only known for a day."

Sirius squinted at him. "Why aren't you upset about this?"

"What should I be upset about? You didn't intend to hurt James—"

"I slept with his wife!"

"Would you have slept with her if you had known James was alive?"

"What? No!"

"Had you ever even considered it?"

"Of course not!" Sirius spluttered as he surged to his feet. "He was my best friend!"

"Then why," Remus asked quietly, his gaze steady, "would I be angry? You didn't set out to hurt him, Padfoot. You couldn't have. Other than Harry, there isn't anyone you have loved more than James." He smiled. "And yes, I realize you think I'm lovely as well."

Sirius rolled his eyes as he grudgingly sat again, his fury stripped. But the weight of the past days wrapped around him too quickly. "He's my son," he said as he pressed his fingertips into his elbows and tried to bring warmth back. "It's surreal. And it's just been sitting there, in that room for fourteen years. Even my mother knew about it."

Remus cocked his head as he took the chair opposite. "How?"

"I only assume, but Kreacher knows. He referred to Harry as my son yesterday and now my mother's screeching about Mudbloods and sullying the family name suddenly makes sense." He lapsed into silence. "He was so angry…"

"He was shocked."

"No," Sirius said, shaking his head. "It was more than that. He was furious with me."

"His entire world has been turned on its end," Remus said, his voice low and soothing, "He isn't who he thought he was—"

"Of course he is. He's the same kid; the same Harry."

"Sirius," Remus said with a sigh. As he shifted, light from the fire danced on his nose and lips. "He was James Potter's son almost as much as he is The Boy Who Lived—"

"That rubbish," Sirius scoffed.

"Yes, _that_ rubbish," Remus agreed. "The rubbish that has made him famous all over Britain and you know what they all say after they notice the scar."

"You look so much like your father..." His stomach twisting, Sirius turned his face the flames. "I said it to him myself. Told him he had Lily's eyes as well."

"As did I," Remus said with regret. "And even though he has never met either of them, he became their son—tried to be what he thought they would want."

Sirius stared into the flames, and though Remus hadn't meant to hurt him, it felt as though a knife had been plunged into his back.

"He is beginning to do that in regards to you, you know," Remus murmured.

Sirius' eyes flew up. Remus smiled.

"I watched him while we were preparing dinner," he explained. "The way he imitated your movements, asking you if something was all right; so pleased when you approved. He is quite taken with you."

It should have made him smile. And it might have if his insides hadn't been lead.

"Have you eaten anything?" Remus asked. Apparently, Sirius took too long to answer because Remus sighed and unfastened his cloak, laying it neatly over the back of his chair before saying, "It is nearly noon. I'll be right back."

Sirius watched him leave, only deciding he didn't want to sit there alone when he could no longer here Remus' footsteps. But as he stood, the flames burned green. Hope sprang to life, only to deflate him a second later when Hermione and Ginny stepped through and onto the rug.

He stared at them. "How did you…?"

"Oh," Hermione said, her face flushing, "Professor Dumbledore revealed the location. He said you wouldn't mind…"

"No, of course not," Sirius amended quickly, stepping aside to allow them to enter the room. "I just wasn't expecting… Do your parents know you're here?" he asked, turning his attention to Ginny.

"No," she said honestly. "Dumbledore came to dinner yesterday evening. He tried to talk to Harry, but Harry—well, you know how stubborn he is."

Sirius didn't know, so he said nothing.

"Dumbledore offered to bring him here, but he wouldn't come," Hermione explained. She fiddled with the edge of a button while she talked. "And Dumbledore suggested that maybe if we offered to come with him he might, but of course Harry wouldn't need that and we already had the location of Grimmauld Place so we thought if Harry wouldn't come back, you could go get him."

Sirius held up a hand, stilling Hermione's babble. "He made it quite plain that he wants to stay with the Weasleys."

Hermione nodded, her brown eyes beginning to shine. "He was confused. He was awful to you, we all know that," she rushed to add. "He didn't mean it though."

Sirius didn't really think that was entirely true. But he wouldn't argue the point. "If he wants to come back, he's welcome to."

Hermione and Ginny traded glances.

Trying not to sound as offended as he felt, he said, "Of course he's welcome here."

"We know," Hermione murmured. "It's just that Harry thinks he's ruined everything."

Ginny folded her arms over her chest and said bluntly, "He thinks you don't want him."

" _What?_ "

"Sirius, the Dursleys hate him," she explained, her voice gentler now but no less fierce somehow. And even though Sirius had already known it, it made him ill to hear it said aloud. "They never wanted him."

"He doesn't understand that families love each other unconditionally," Hermione added. "He never has. He knows he hurt you… only he thinks it's unforgiveable."

"He wants to come home," Ginny said softly. "But he's afraid to ask."

It was more a blow than Harry's refusal to come back with him. "He doesn't need to ask."

"We know that," Ginny echoed Hermione, "but he thinks he does." She smiled a little. "Did I mention that he's stubborn?"

Wondering how Ginny knew so much about Harry, Sirius didn't know what to say. But he wasn't a coward, no matter his claim to Remus. And if Hermione and Ginny were right… if there was a chance that Harry actually did want to come back; that he wasn't still so angry…

"Where is he now?" he asked, running a hand over his stubbled chin.

"Our old tree house," Ginny said. "Ron is with him."

Sirius nodded as his mind worked through how to get himself there.

\--

Climbing a tree house with four paws was much easier than it should have been. But then, Padfoot had executed more complicated maneuvers so he wasted little thought on the ease of the climb as he reached the top and transformed.

As soon as he saw Harry, his heart plummeted.

Harry was staring out the only window, his arms wrapped around his knees; just staring into the distance. Sirius pressed his molars tightly together and forced down a swallow. If he didn't already hate himself for what he'd done to James, he would surely despise himself now.

Ron saw him first; he was sitting sideways next to Harry. Ron smiled at him, which for some reason, made it easier to stand there. But only a little.

Unsure what to do; wanting to take the kid in his arms and hug him until he burst, he swallowed once more through the deep ache beginning to consume him and said as evenly as he could manage, "Hello."

Harry's head jerked around. He didn't say anything, just stared at Sirius with eyes that had seen too much.

Sirius cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you would like to come home."

The green eyes were wide now; disbelieving that Sirius could really mean that. Sirius read it in every taut line marring his face. Harry uncurled slowly; moving as if simply turning around took all of his will power.

"I'll tell Mum for you," Ron offered.

Harry glanced sideways at his friend. Ron smiled. With a small wave, he ducked behind Sirius and swung down to catch the stairs.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. And after an anxious moment, Harry swallowed and nodded. Sirius' smile didn't make it all the way as he jerked his head to gesture Harry closer. "We'll Apparate…"

Harry stood stiff as soon as he was close enough and with his stomach in knots, Sirius pulled him in and let the world collapse in a menagerie of colour as he turned on the spot.

\--

Harry stepped away from Sirius as soon as they landed in the kitchen; Sirius had explained that only a Black could get past the anti-apparition wards and Harry wondered if that included him now or he had simply been swept here in the umbrella of Sirius' apparition.

"Would you care for tea?"

Sirius had his hands in the pockets of his trousers, his shoulders hunched and an uncertainty in his face that Harry had never seen before. He wasn't really thirsty but he nodded anyway, sliding into a chair as Sirius turned toward the stove.

Sirius moved around the kitchen nearly soundlessly; he did almost everything that way Harry had noticed. A living shadow, Remus had said once. Only he had been referring to a Dementor.

A tray settled in the middle of the table. "Tea?" Sirius' soft voice broke the awful silence.

Harry nodded quickly; without looking up. He listened to the shushing water as it was poured into one of the delicate cups.

"Biscuit?"

Harry pulled the steaming tea toward his chest, shaking his head only once.

Sirius' chair scraped along the wood; he didn't pour himself any tea. "I don't know what to say." His voice was muffled as if he was pressing his knuckles against his lips—as he sometimes did. "I know I should..."

Harry traced a thumb over the lines crisscrossing his palm, ignoring the soothing scent of peppermint wafting up from his teacup. He couldn't meet Sirius' eye. "I don't know why I'm so angry."

There wasn't even a rustle of fabric as Sirius murmured, "It's all right."

Harry hadn't expected that and he didn't know how to respond. He dared a glance at Sirius, but Sirius was staring at his twisted fingers. Harry shifted, searching for the right words to make an apology. "I'm sorry," he finally mumbled.

Sirius' head came up, a sad smile on his lips. "I do understand," he said softly. "You've every right to be angry."

Harry searched his godfather's eyes. Except they didn't belong to his godfather. He didn't even _have_ a godfather. "I should be glad to have a father." He hadn't meant to say it aloud and as soon as he saw the look on Sirius' face, he wished very fervently that he hadn't. "I didn't mean—"

"You don't need to think of me that way." Sirius pulled his hands onto his lap. "I was very happy simply to be your godfather."

He was even smiling when he said it, but it made Harry's chest tighten. Shouldn't it mean something to Sirius that Harry was his son?

"James is your dad," Sirius added, nodding just a little bit. "And what happened between your mother and me should never have happened. A mistake shouldn't change how you think of your parents."

Harry nodded dumbly, feeling as though he'd been punched. _A mistake?_ He took a sloppy sip of his tea; some of it sloshed over the rim. Sirius frowned.

"Yeah," Harry choked out, cutting off anything that Sirius wanted to say. "It doesn't."

Of course he should have realized that Sirius thought of him that way. His mum hadn't wanted Sirius to be his father. Obviously. His dad either. And all Sirius saw now when he looked at Harry was the ugly truth that he'd betrayed his best friend.

Except that he knew Sirius had wanted him here. Harry took another sip of tea; neatly this time. It would have to be enough.


	6. With a Beloved Regret

_I should be happy to have a father._

Sirius' forced the painful words away and focused on Harry sitting across from him. The silence had stretched on for too long.

But when Sirius tried to speak, no words emerged and he had to clear his throat. Harry jumped at the noise. He quickly brought his head up; Sirius didn't understand the guilt splashed across his face. Sirius smiled and hoped that might help. Harry had every right to his feelings and Sirius didn't want him feel guilty for them.

"I'd like to explain what happened," he said, his voice less measured than he would have liked.

"That's all right," Harry said stiffly. "You don't need to."

Sirius kept his frown carefully hidden. "I think I do," he said softly. "I want you to know that I cared a great deal for your mother. I—" He had to swallow to get through the rest. "—didn't love her in the same way your dad did." Harry looked away and Sirius rushed on, "But I didn't do it to hurt her. When I thought your dad was dead, we were both devastated… I know it doesn't make it right, but I need you to know that I never meant to hurt her."

He stopped then; his voice was hoarse and Harry's jaw was tight as he stared at the row of cupboards.

Sirius thought it was probably too much for a fourteen-year old to be able to handle—or understand. "I am very sorry, Harry." When Harry didn't even acknowledge him, Sirius asked quietly, "Is there anything else you would like to ask me?"

Harry finally looked at him; he shook his head.

Sirius leaned forward a little. "You can ask me anything, Harry. I know you're still angry with me and that's all right." He didn't think he sounded as encouraging as he meant to because Harry frowned.

"I'm not."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. Harry glanced away, a slow breath expanding his chest. "How did you forget?" he asked eventually.

Reluctant to bring Lily under fire—especially when Harry was already angry enough at him, Sirius hesitated. "Sometimes… when a person is under extreme stress—that is how Pomfrey explained it—a memory can be blocked, and Pomfrey found the blocked memory when she examined me."

It was inaccurate at best, an all-out lie at worst, but he couldn't bear for betrayal to haunt those green eyes again. And Harry was beginning to look a little gray.

"Nothing needs to change," Sirius said quickly, only wanting Harry to smile again. "We'll go on just as we always have. You'll be back at Hogwarts the day after tomorrow and I will be in Hogsmeade again, and Dumbledore has already said he will schedule a trip for next week; before the next task."

"You don't have to do that," Harry said quietly. "You have a house here."

Sirius didn't answer immediately as he wrestled with his emotions. "I want to be around in case you need me," he said. "Your parents named me your godfather and I would be making a pretty poor job of that if I don't do what I can to keep you safe."

He didn't mention that he wouldn't have been named godfather if Lily hadn't obliviated him. In all likelihood, he never would have met Harry at all.

Harry finally nodded. "OK." He was studying the dredges of tea in his cup.

"And of course," Sirius tried a little harder, though he felt like his lungs were being squeezed, "I will be nearby for the next task. Have you given more thought to the egg?"

Harry was spinning his saucer idly. "Cedric told me to take it in the prefect's bath when we were on the train. He didn't say why." He shrugged as he glanced up. "Reckoned since the champions have to go back early, I could try it then. The castle will be empty."

Two days.

That's all they had to sort this.

"You could use the bathtub here," Sirius offered.

Harry pinched his lips together and then he straightened. "All right." A pause. "Thanks."

The formality was worse than the stiffness somehow. Was it really so awful that he was Harry's father? Or was it strictly the betrayal?

Undecided which would be worse, Sirius smiled. But before he could say more, Harry stood. "No reason to wait… if that's all right?"

His throat tight, Sirius nodded.

With solicitous movements, Harry took his tea things to the sink, setting them down gently enough that there wasn't even a whisper as they landed. Harry tried a smile as he turned; it failed miserably. Ducking his head, he trudged up the stairs. As soon as his footsteps faded away, Sirius pressed his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking with all the tension he'd kept buried for the past three days. There were no tears; no pity either. He had created all of this.

_Lily shouldn't have taken your memory_ , a small voice told him but he pushed it away. Lily had done him a kindness, of that he had no doubt. She had been trying to spare him—all of them. And he didn't blame her.

James never would have recovered from this.

Sirius was convinced he never would either. How could he when every time he looked at Harry, he betrayed James all over again? He wasn't supposed to be so hurt that Harry didn't want him as a father. He shouldn't want Harry to want that.

But he did. And there was no use denying it.

\--

"Thank you," Sirius murmured as he took the parcel from his friend.

"It was no trouble at all," Remus said, his smile encouraging. "How are you?"

Sirius' eyes wandered to the corridor; Harry had been holed up in the library most of the day. Remus followed his gaze.

"He's still angry?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know. He just avoids the entire subject; doesn't want to know anything about what happened."

"It is hardly a comfortable topic in the best of times… sex," Remus clarified.

"Yes, thank you, Moony," Sirius said with a roll of his eyes. "I didn't actually go into detail."

"Even without detail…"

Sirius sighed. "This is a bloody mess," he muttered, tossing the parcel aside and slouching deep in the chair. "He hates me."

"He doesn't—"

"He said he doesn't want me to be his father."

Remus' startled gaze flew to the corridor and then back again to Sirius.

"And yes," Sirius said darkly before Remus could try to soothe him, "he really said that."

"He… can't have meant it."

Sirius didn't bother to argue. "Kreacher is taking a perverse pleasure from this," he said with a scowl. "I've finally met my mother's lowest expectations. And he can't stop reminding me."

"You never planned to follow in your family's traditions."

"I never intended to come back here so she could gloat either," Sirius grumbled. "I hate this house."

Remus nodded, his eyes full of concern. Sirius turned away from it, but Remus said anyway, "Maybe if you tried to talk to him again—"

"I have tried. He hardly looks at me… not that I blame him."

"Sirius—"

Sirius ran a hand down his face. "I know you're only trying to help, Moony, and I appreciate it, I really do. But as far as Harry is concerned, I betrayed James. I _did_ betray James..."

"You were going to tell him," Remus pointed out. "You didn't intend to keep it from him."

Sirius looked away from Remus' placid gaze. Knowing he shouldn't feel guilt, he mumbled, "I didn't tell him it was Lily's spell that obliviated me."

"Why?"

"There isn't any reason for him to be angry with both of us. She did what she thought she had to do. She thought she was pregnant…" His head was too heavy for his neck and he let it fall back against the cushion. "I should have let him stay with the Weasleys."

"He didn't want to stay with the Weasleys."

"He wanted to come back here and hide in the library?" Sirius shook his head and blew out a breath. "Sorry; I know I'm a terrible bore."

"Would you like me to speak with him?" Remus asked after a moment.

Sirius sent his friend a small smile. "Thanks, Moony, but I don't think it would help."

Remus leaned forward a little. "Well, if you think of anything that I might do; anything at all."

"I know," Sirius murmured, more grateful to the other man than he could put voice to. Remus smiled as he stood; he gripped Sirius' hand.

"I know it sounds hollow," he said quietly, "but I do believe everything will sort itself out. You will find a way to reach him."

Sirius truly didn't think so, but he nodded for Remus' benefit. "Thank you again for fetching the Gillyweed for me."

"My pleasure. Don't wallow for too long," Remus said seriously as they retraced their steps to the front door. "And don't stay a moment longer in this house than is absolutely necessary."

"I won't," Sirius promised. "I can feel it beginning to seep into my veins."

Remus didn't smirk or tell him that was silly. Sirius had always returned in September a different person and his friends had noticed and allowed him time to reacquaint himself with normalcy. With a life that didn't include daily pain or ridicule.

"I'm always here," Remus said, using the same words he and James had uttered more than once during their years at Hogwarts. And just as it had then, it made speech difficult. So Sirius simply nodded and trusted Remus to understand. Remus smiled and when he was gone, Sirius let himself fall into the shadowed corner, imagining he could feel the pulse of life from these walls—the echo of seven generations of heartbeats.

And when he had found sense again, he straightened his father's shirt and fetched the parcel of Gillyweed from the parlour. Harry wasn't in the library and even though a cold fear trickled down Sirius' spine with that discovery, he refused to panic. His footsteps were quicker anyway and he let out a deep breath when he found Harry in the tapestry room.

He was sitting with his legs folded, his back against the wall; simply staring.

Sirius watched him, the newly familiar warmth filling his chest. It crept up unexpectedly and it had since he first saw Harry's name on the family tree. Even if Harry didn't care for the idea, Sirius couldn't seem to help it.

This incredible knowledge that this kid was his son. And though he meant what he'd said to Harry; he had loved Harry from the first day, this was a feeling more intense. The most marvelous feeling.

_He's my son._

Because he couldn't help it, Sirius smiled.

Harry looked up then, confusion blanking his expression for a moment but then he frowned and pushed himself up. He didn't say anything and after a stretch of wary appraisal, Sirius stuck the parcel between them.

"It's Gillyweed," he explained. "It will give you gills so you will be able to breathe underwater. I asked Remus to fetch it yesterday evening, after we talked about what the clue might mean…" Harry was giving him a very peculiar look, his eyebrows scrunched close together but he didn't look angry exactly… Might have been surprise except he was still frowning.

"I know there are other ways to solve the problem of going underwater," Sirius added quickly when Harry continued to stare, "but I thought it would be easier this way since you wouldn't have to learn a new spell with such short notice and I asked Remus to buy twice as much as you might need, in case it takes longer and you need more…"

He cleared his throat. "Go on and take it."

And Harry finally closed the distance and accepted it. "Thanks."

"You'll just need to swallow it just before you get in the water," Sirius explained as he slid his empty hands into his pockets. "One bundle should last an hour."

Harry nodded along with the instructions, cradling the brown box to his chest. "I'll just put this away," he mumbled; had to turn sideways so he could slide past Sirius.

Sirius drew a slow breath through his nostrils once Harry had disappeared and told himself firmly that Harry had every right to be angry. That conviction lasted through the silence of the evening, until the lights were off and both of them in their beds.

"How long did you fancy Mum, then?" Harry's strained voice floated from the dimness.

Sirius stilled. "What?"

Sheets rustled and he could see Harry's vague outline as the lump across from him moved. "Mum," Harry repeated. "Did you always fancy her? At school, I mean?"

Sirius stared at him while he tried to find his tongue. "I didn't fancy your mum… not like that."

"You must have," Harry said, moving into irritation once more. "You said you cared about her."

"Yes," Sirius said, wiping his clammy palm against the quilt, "and I did. Very much, but in the same way I care for Remus. We were friends."

A snort. "Just like Ron and Hermione?" He gave Sirius no chance to answer. "You must have liked her."

Sirius waved his hand as he sat up and brought the lamps up slightly, leaving Harry squinting from his pillow. "How much do you want to know about my time with your mother?" Sirius asked quietly.

Harry blinked at the blunt question and as Sirius had expected, his cheeks darkened.

"I meant it when I said I will tell you anything you want to know," Sirius said, finding it surprisingly easy to keep Harry's gaze now. "It must be an awful feeling to find out that I betrayed James. Would it be easier for you if I could tell you that I had been waiting for your mother since I first met her? That we only kept away from each other to spare James' feelings?"

Harry was gaping at him.

"I'm sorry I can't make this easier," Sirius murmured. "Your dad… was as good as a brother to me and what happened between your mother and me only happened because we both loved him. It was worse for your mum—she thought she was already pregnant and she was heartbroken; _I_ was heartbroken. It was a way to connect with him again, I think. Or maybe it was a way to forget that he died."

His voice broke but he went on anyway, caught in the memory, "It hurt more than anything and your mum was so devastated, so frightened. I had promised James that I would take care of her if something ever happened to him—I made that promise when the war began to look bleak…"

He swallowed. Harry' lips were mashed together.

"It… just happened," Sirius said softly. "And I regretted it as soon as it was over. Not because I didn't care about her," he said quickly as Harry's face fell, "but because I knew it would probably make her feel guilty; or ashamed for betraying James and that was the last thing I wanted."

Harry turned his face to the ceiling.

"It would not have happened if we hadn't thought James had died that night." Sirius hoped that would help; didn't know what would help.

Harry nodded though. "Right," he whispered, no sarcasm to mar it. "I understand." He turned away and pulled his blanket around his shoulder. "Could you turn the lamps down again please?" he asked, as blandly as if Sirius had just forecast rain for the morning.

Sirius wanted to ask him to turn around; actually he wanted to plead with Harry to talk to him. Even if all he wanted to do was shout at him. A loud and vicious row would be better than the silence.

The chilly air that permeated the room.

What more could he say?

What the hell was he doing wrong?

Harry's back was taut. Sinking back onto his pillow, Sirius spelled the lights off and plunged them into blackness.

\--

The next morning came much too quickly.

"You certain you have everything?" Sirius asked. Harry nodded as he closed his book bag. "Gillyweed?"

"Yep."

"The mirror?"

Harry patted his pocket.

Sirius had only thought of them in the middle of the night, and though he doubted Harry would care for a chat, at least he would have them in an emergency.

"I will see you a week from Saturday in Hogsmeade then?" he asked as Harry pulled his jacket on.

Harry didn't look up from his zipper. "Sure."

Sirius caught his wrist before Harry could slip into the corridor. Harry turned slowly to meet his gaze. "If you need anything," Sirius said quietly, "just use your mirror. Anything at all."

"I know," Harry said, but his voice was full of the soft anger Sirius was getting used to; he wondered if Harry recognized it.

Before Sirius could decide whether Harry would tolerate a hug, Harry flexed his fingers, tugging against the hold. His jaw tightening against the hurt, Sirius released him.

"Dumbledore is waiting," he said gruffly as he stepped back to allow Harry to go first. For a moment, Harry's eyes were too bright, but just as quickly, he dropped his head, his hands stuffed into pockets as he hurried down the dark passage.

"Ready?" Dumbledore asked with his most benign smile when they reached the door. Harry nodded wordlessly and adjusted his bag over his shoulder. "Mr. Weasley is going to meet us at the station with the other children. And of course, Cedric will be there as well. I am very much looking forward to this," he added. "I have always wanted to ride the train without a crowd."

A pasted smile was Harry's only response.

Dumbledore smoothed his long beard over the dark burgundy vines decorating his robes, worry darkening his open expression as he glanced between them. "I will step outside," he murmured, "while you say goodbye to your father."

Harry's eyes flew up. Sirius froze as well. A dark flush stained Harry's cheeks and his bunched fingers stretched the fabric at his pockets as he strained so obviously not to look at Sirius.

"That's all right," Sirius said so quickly he stumbled over the simple words. His muscles taut with restraint, he gave a faint smile. "Take care of yourself and I will see you in a week."

"Right," Harry said, glancing up briefly. His cheeks still glowing, he mumbled something that might have been a farewell and then yanked open the door. With a deep sigh, Dumbledore patted Sirius' shoulder.

"I apologize," he murmured. "I did not realize..." He shook his head and let the thought hang. "Take care, my boy."

With the click of the knob, Sirius was alone.

The walls couldn't move, so he was probably only imagining that they were closing in on him. A sharp breath told him he wasn't breathing properly so he pressed his lips tightly together and pivoted. He studiously ignored the merry lights of the Christmas tree and went into the library.

The rumpled quilt on Harry's bed didn't help his mood. He muttered an oath as his foot caught on something sticking out from under the bed, nearly sprawling. The box of photos and letters he had shared with Harry, he realized as he sank onto the tangled of bedclothes.

Pulling the box from under the bed, he dragged idle fingers through the years. Writing that wasn't immediately recognizable caught his eye. He shifted it out of the pile, his brow furrowed. A crumpled envelope… the Black Family crest imprinted in wax. He traced the serpent, his thumbnail slashing a line through the bolt of lightning it was swallowing before he turned the envelope over.

His own name on the front… Regulus' script...

_An envelope, a crack of Apparition disturbing the night…_

_James recovering…_

Kreacher.

With a jolt, Sirius remembered what this was. A letter from Regulus, delivered to him by the house-elf on the night his brother died. It was the only time Sirius had ever seen the sheen of tears in Kreacher's hateful eyes.

_Master Regulus wanted Master Black to have this._

Sirius closed his eyes. He had put the envelope way that night; stuffed it under his pants and refused to think of it ever again. It had hurt too much.

Searching for the pain now, he found it; as sharp and fresh as it had been when it was new.

A squeak brought his eyes open. Kreacher was standing in the doorway, his wide eyes bulging out of his head.

In no mood for the elf's bile, he snapped, "Go away." But the elf did not move. His hands began to tremble.

"Master never opened Master Regulus' letter," he breathed. "Kreacher told Master Black to open the letter."

"I know," Sirius muttered irritably, clutching the letter in his fist. "It doesn't matter—"

"Yes, yes, yes," Kreacher cried, hoarse now. "Master Black was meant to open the letter! Master Regulus was most brave… No, no, no," he sobbed "No, Kreacher told Master Black; Kreacher told Maaaaster Blaaaaack…" The litany poured out, louder and louder until the words were nothing but a shrill screech as his tiny fists pounded at his head and then with a deafening crack, the elf was gone.

Sirius stared at the empty doorway, the parchment crackling as he uncurled his fist.

Ten minutes later, he was still staring at his brother's final words, a vial of memories resting placidly on the bed beside him.

_... I have brought the full power of our family upon the dark lord. An ancient curse, that he has no hope of escaping and one which will protect you from him. The serpents have devoured the lightning and you will harness its power._

_As much as you hate everything we stand for, Sirius, you are still a Black. The last in our line and it is through you that the curse will reach its full potential. It is through you that the dark lord will be destroyed._


	7. In a Piercing Silence

The ancient Pensieve sat untouched on the pedestal in Orion Black's second floor study while Sirius gazed at his father's portrait with a jaw that wouldn't unhinge.

"Have you forgotten how to speak?" Orion demanded from his frame.

"No sir." The response was automatic and Sirius grimaced as the subdued tone emerged.

"So you have returned in hope of reclaiming your place in our esteemed house, have you?" Orion asked with a sneer.

It was an effort for Sirius to swallow the reflexive deference. Pressing his lips together, he turned away.

"How dare you turn your back to me!"

"Thought I had already done that," Sirius muttered as he uncorked the tiny vial.

"Yes," his father's dark voice agreed. "And your mother and I were most relieved, I assure you. It was a simple matter to erase your name from the family tree. If only you would have left us sooner, we would have been saved from the years of disgrace you wrought upon our family."

Sirius clenched his teeth; his knuckles were white as he poured the viscous silver memories into the stone bowl.

"What are you doing there? I demand that you answer me, Sirius!"

Without turning, Sirius drew his wand and cast a silencing spell at the portrait. "None of your bloody business…" He leaned forward, preparing to dive into the past. But before his nose was even past the rim, the memories were lifted into the air with a noisy slurp. "What—"

The walls were pulsating.

A loud pop and the memories vanished. Sirius' jerked upright, his eyes round as he stared at the empty Pensieve. And then he turned slowly and found his father's dark smile.

"Did you forget all that we taught you?" he drawled with a gleam in his painted eyes. "This is _my_ study and your magic cannot be used against me here."

Floundering as though he was four again, Sirius struggled for words. "But…"

"Has death ever stopped the Blacks?" Orion asked with a single raised brow; as dark as Sirius'. "This house may be yours—" He curled a lip. "—but everything in here is warded against you. I wish I had had time to do as much to the rest of the house. The thought of you touching anything with your filthy hands would be enough to sicken me were I still alive."

Sirius had to ignore the pounding of his heart. "I needed that memory," he said through his teeth.

"How very unfortunate for you."

"You don't understand—"

"Nor do I wish to," Orion said flatly. "Now get out before the room realizes exactly who has passed its threshold and follows through on my last orders."

"They were Reg's memories!" Sirius hated the desperate way the words emerged. He fisted his fingers and forced his voice calm. "Father, please—"

"Do you think I care what Regulus has to say?" his father spat, his painted face screwing up until it was almost unrecognizable. "He is nearly worse than you! Worse because we expected _you_ to stain our noble house! Taking his own life in the stead of a house elf!"

"What?"

"Nothing!" Orion roared. "It was you!" he raged as Sirius tried to interject. "It is your fault he did not follow his true path! If you had not shown him the ways of a traitor! Get out, you ungrateful little bastard. I never want to see your worthless face again!"

As if a great gust of wind had swept through the windowless room, a dusty decanter flew off the shelf and shattered against Sirius' back. Gasping, he managed to duck the next one and then he was lifted off his feet and flailing in mid-air. Tossed on the tempest of his father's fury, he crashed through the closed door and was deposited in a heap on the floor outside the study.

Dazed, he didn't immediately move; only stared at the door as it slammed itself home. The echo reverberated through the cavernous space as pain hummed a faint protest through his back.

\--

Funny how quickly he got used to the ache. Though perhaps it wasn't odd at all; he had had them often enough as a child, after all. And if he stayed mostly to his left side, he hardly felt it.

Some part of him longed to call for Kreacher so that he could demand—or plead—that the elf tell him anything he knew about Regulus' decision to betray Voldemort and where his brother had found a curse powerful enough that he thought it would bring down one of the most powerful wizards history had ever known.

Was it possible that the protections Regulus had hinted at could have been transferred to Harry, if the protections had been meant for the last in their line? Or had it been just as Dumbledore told him; that it was Lily's sacrifice that saved Harry that night?

Either way, Voldemort was dead. So it shouldn't matter.

Why then, did he need to know if Reg's protections had kept Harry alive?

Sirius sighed as he rolled carefully. It was more than a week until he would see Harry again. An entire week. Long enough for the anger to have cooled into hibernation.

Or stoked into an inferno.

Considering that Harry had agreed to live with him about five minutes after they met, it seemed unlikely that he would be able to hold onto a grudge. Except that Sirius had been a simple fugitive then. Not a traitorous backstabber who also happened to be Harry's father. And wouldn't Harry be even more appalled to know that he couldn't stop dreaming of Lily? In the small moments of sleep he was allowed to snatch, she haunted him. Only now it was in memories that had never happened.

_An announcement that she was pregnant, this time the sparkle in her eyes for him. Dancing in front of a low fire, grinning as she laughed and pulled him as close as her swollen belly would allow._

_On the other side of the door—with Lily as she gave birth to their son. Perched next to her in the moments afterward, his arm around her shoulders as Harry gurgled up at them._

He drew a deep breath and forced the regrets away as he closed his eyes.

As he drifted in and out of sleep, Sirius couldn't decide if he should be concerned by the approaching footsteps. And he didn't even lift his head when Remus' soft voice queried through the darkness, "Sirius?"

He did flap a hand though.

More steps and then Remus' face was hovering just above his. "Why are you in the dark?"

"Having a lie-in, of course." He squinted up at his friend. "What are you doing here?"

"Have you been drinking?" Remus asked, his nose wrinkling.

Sirius blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"You reek of gin."

"Oh." Sirius winced as he sat up. "Had a bit of an accident."

Remus' brows went up. "A bottle attacked you, did it?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Sirius waved off Remus' questioning stare; grimaced against the dull ache still throbbing through his back as he gave his shoulders an experimental roll. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, mate, but what are you doing here?"

Remus swept his tatty cloak off his shoulders, not immediately answering as Sirius picked his way over to the desk and began rummaging for a shirt.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Sirius glanced over his shoulder at the sharp question; Remus' eyebrows were pinched together.

"I'm tired—"

"Your shirt is torn," Remus interrupted. He moved closer, a frown slicing his features. "You're bleeding…"

"Am I?" Sirius asked in genuine surprise, instinctively twisting. "Thought it was only a bruise," he mused.

Taking extra care in peeling off the shirt, he made a face when he saw Remus' worry. "I wasn't drinking," he sighed. "I don't exactly have a secret ambition to become my mother, you know."

"Bloody hell… what did you _do_?" Remus demanded, catching a shoulder.

"It's just a nick—"

"It is more than a little gash. Hold still, will you? I'll close it… honestly, Sirius, were you just going to walk around like this?"

"I didn't know I was bleed—ow!" Sirius glared round.

"Sorry…" A quiet spell broke the air and Remus' grip firmed. "There you are."

"Thanks," Sirius mumbled. It was easier to move his arms into a fresh shirt. His lips tightened as he poked a finger through the bloody hole where his father's bottle had caught him.

"Going to explain how that happened?"

Sirius tossed the shirt to the back of the desk. "No." Raking a hand through his hair he turned and perched on the edge of the oak. His eyebrow rose in imitation of Remus', his arms crossing his chest loosely and finally Remus sighed.

"If you actually are falling onto bottles of gin," he said with a shake of his head, "don't you think you ought to leave?"

"I was distracted."

"By?"

After a moment's debate, Sirius blew out a breath and let his arms uncurl. "Do you remember the night my brother died?"

"Kreacher came to tell you the news."

"Right. He gave me a letter—said Reg wanted me to have it but I didn't open it."

"James mentioned it…"

Sirius swallowed, refused the guilt and explained Kreacher's unexpected anxiety and the contents of the letter. "Reg didn't say what the curse was though," he muttered. "Didn't even say what it was supposed to do to Voldemort; only that it would protect me from him; because I am the last in our line

"But you're not—"

"I know." Sirius sighed. "He didn't elaborate at all, simply said everything would be explained in the memories he sent along with the letter."

"Did you look at them?"

Sirius shook his head. "My father's Pensieve reacted badly to my attempt. And I know it doesn't matter," he went quickly to override any questions, "because Voldemort is dead… but I wanted to know." He hugged his ribs tightly as Remus' intent gaze seeped in.

"Because you think Harry was the actual recipient of whatever power this curse had?" Remus finally asked softly.

And it took Sirius several attempts to answer, "It's too coincidental otherwise, isn't it?" He realized how desperate his voice sounded and tried to modulate it without success.

"Dumbledore told me that it was Lily's sacrifice that saved Harry that night—her magic that killed Voldemort and I don't even know how the curse's magic would have transferred itself to Harry if its protection was intended for me, but Reg seemed intent on pointing out that it would protect me because I'm the heir to our family line, which I'm not. And I don't know when he cast this curse. When he died Lily was already pregnant—"

He gave up, letting his tensed shoulders sink. "I know it doesn't matter," he repeated softly. "But I would have liked to have known." He stared at his lap. "If his being my son..."

_Saved him._ But he couldn't say it aloud so he stood abruptly, grateful that his back was no longer screaming in protest, though tumbling to the floor certainly hadn't done him any favors.

"Reg switched allegiances," he said as he re-packed his box of letters, pausing to run a thumb down the picture of little Harry on his broom. Smiling, he slipped it into his breast pocket and retrieved the more recent one from the desk to put alongside it. "I wish I knew what changed his mind. You remember what he was like back then."

Frowning in sympathy, Remus nodded. "Is there any way to get the memories back?"

Sirius shook his head, certain of his father's magical prowess even in death. And he certainly wasn't going to beg. "It doesn't matter." He half-smiled at the frank disbelief on Remus' face.

"Perhaps if you summoned Kreacher?"

"Kreacher would rather see my head in the dining room next to his mother's than answer any questions," Sirius snorted. "Come on, Moony. I'll make you lunch and then I never want to see this house again."

\--

Unable to still the anticipatory sweep of his tail, Padfoot waited at the crest of the hill. He had been watching since sunrise, not caring that he was hours too early. And now that he had seen the first signs of student life in the village below, he had left the protection of the trees.

Usually, Harry managed to bring his friends here first before Hermione dragged them into any of the stores. Padfoot had hoped that would be the case this morning, but the sun was rising ever higher in the sky and now he simply hoped they would arrive before noon; they would have very little time together if Harry left it too late.

And this time, he was determined that they should leave on better terms. With a smile at the very least.

Of course, he hadn't any idea how he was going to accomplish that. But it had been a week, with plenty of time for Harry to get used to the idea.

Padfoot's ears pricked as scuffling footsteps approached in the distance. His tail's tempo increased and sagged just as quickly. Dark hair that was not Harry's—and two heads of ginger, neither of which was Ron's. None of the laughing boys paid him any mind as they passed.

A pair of Ravenclaws strolled by a moment later, lips and hands inseparable.

Padfoot huffed as he sank behind the scant protection of the trees, keeping just his snout out so he could stay alert. And though there were dozens of familiar smells, none of them were Harry's. Ron and Hermione were nowhere nearby either. And when the sun reached its peak and began its crawling descent back to the earth, he stood.

With as much care as possible, he slunk down the hill with his heart tapping a worried rhythm against his ribcage. Harry had never been this late. Students were milling around the shops, happy sounds coming from every direction so Padfoot tuned out the sounds and concentrated on scents.

He hid behind a pair of rubbish bins when he saw Hermione's bushy hair. But she was with Ginny. He scanned the crowded paths, finally spotted Ron's garish cap just coming toward the row of shops. And there was Harry right beside him.

They were just late. With a deep release of breath, Padfoot relaxed and let his stomach rest on the cold ground. But instead of going past the shops and toward the cave, the two boys ducked into The Three Broomsticks.

His nose quivering, Padfoot watched, waiting for them to come back through the door. The sun was sinking behind the trees when they finally emerged in a pack of other students. Sirius stood automatically, poised to return to the cave when Harry glanced away from the group.

Just as quickly, he stuffed his bare hands into his pockets. With his shoulders hunched inside his jacket, he plodded along with his friends as they made their way to the sweets shop.

It was dusk when the boys tumbled out again. Padfoot shivered as Harry passed only a meter in front of him. And then he watched as Harry and Ron took the path that would lead them back to Hogwarts. Watched him until he disappeared and night blanketed the village.

And that's where Padfoot stayed, not moving; not caring enough to do anything but stare at the castle in the distance.

\--

Gasping and coughing, Sirius' eyes shot open. He gulped in a great rush of air, his arms and legs slicing through water as he sputtered.

Water? He had just been walking through the forest to—

"Sirius!" Harry's frantic voice cut through the disorientation and within the blur Sirius found he wasn't alone. Harry was splashing along in front of him, his teeth chattering and water pouring in rivulets from his hair.

"Harry," he rasped. "What… what—"

"Are you all right? The Merpeople," Harry sputtered as his arms buoyed him, "it was the clue and all of you were down there but I didn't want them to see you; the merfolk must have known you were there—"

Sirius had no idea what he was talking about but he could see that they were in the open, in some part of the lake at Hogwarts or so it would seem. Familiar trees…

Gripping Harry's arm, he pointed to the nearest shoreline and said in between his wet wheezing, "Come on… out of here."

Harry nodded, his teeth still chattering and the two of them began swimming. As soon as Sirius' feet touched the soft bottom, he took Harry's hand, half-dragging him until they reached the raised bank. Sirius pushed from behind as Harry dragged himself over and then Sirius climbed up after. They fell to their knees amongst the pine needles, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breaths, each inhale interrupted by a coughing spasm.

"Are you hurt?" Sirius finally breathed. And when Harry shook his head, Sirius asked, "What happened?"

Harry shook his head again as a racking cough took over his attempt at speech. Sirius frowned, taking the moment to fumble for his wand, the effort nearly toppling him. He managed drying and warming charms before it registered that Harry was wearing some sort of bathing costume.

Somehow this had to do with the second task, which Sirius had been intending to watch from the trees; walking in that direction was the last thing he could remember. "What happened?" he asked as he struggled out of his heavy cloak.

Harry explained that Sirius had been a floating hostage alongside three others—including Hermione.

Sirius stared at him with furrowed brows. "Wait… I was the something of great value the egg's song spoke of?"

Harry's cheeks were ruddy as he nodded. "Yeah. And I had to free you. You were just tied there! I cast a spell to split the rope and then I just swam straight up," he said quickly, his words beginning to run together, "because we were supposed to take you back, but I couldn't because I panicked and if the other champions had seen you…" He swallowed and shoved his hair out of his face.

"It's all right," Sirius said quietly. A spark of hope had ignited in his chest, quickly snuffed out with Harry's obvious discomfort. "Nobody saw me."

Harry nodded shakily. "Yeah… I don't think so. I was first… I'll be disqualified," he muttered. "How did they—I mean, it must have been the Merpeople who put you down there, but how did they find you?"

More confused than when they'd started, Sirius shook his head. "I don't know… here," he added, handing over the cloak as Harry shivered, "put this on."

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine." He was chafing at his bare arms as he said it. Sirius frowned.

"You're wearing swimming trunks. It's the middle of January and you haven't any shoes—"

"It's all right," Harry said. He wobbled as he stood. "The lake was charmed so it wouldn't be so cold and you cast a Warming Charm, yeah? I just need to figure out which way to go." He made a visor with his palm and squinted against the sun.

"Go?" Sirius echoed, pushing himself up as well with the cloak still wadded in his fist. "We haven't any idea where we are—"

"Well, I can't stay here—"

"No, of course not," Sirius agreed, "but we're nowhere near the castle and it will take quite awhile to walk back so just put the cloak on and we'll get started."

"I'm not cold," Harry insisted. "And you don't need to walk me back. I can find my way."

"I'm not letting you wander through the forest on your own."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Could you lay off with all the danger business?" he said as he turned away. "I've walked through this forest before—through a den of giant spiders with Ron and with Draco in the middle of the night when I was a first year. Once to rescue you as well, you know," he tossed over his shoulder, "so I don't think I really need any—"

Kicked out of his stupor, Sirius caught Harry's elbow and planted himself in front of his son. "I know you've decided to hate me," he began in a low voice, one that was straining to break, "because in your reckoning I did something unforgiveable when I betrayed my best friend. And I am not defending that, but even if you don't want anything to do with me, you are still the most important person in the world to me and I am not simply going to disappear because you want me to."

Harry's mouth had closed, his lips nearly vanishing as he pressed them together. Glancing away, he mumbled, "I didn't say I wanted you to."

"You hardly need to," Sirius retorted softly. "I did finally get the point around sunset last Saturday."

Harry's eyes flew up. But before he could begin to list excuses, Sirius let his arm go and held out the cloak between them. "Put it on," he said, his voice hard and unfamiliar.

For a moment, he was certain that Harry would argue but instead he dropped his gaze and took the cloak, fastening it around his neck with jerky movements. Scowling, Sirius shortened it with a spell, sent an Engorgio at the trunks and then transfigured rocks into two somethings that would pass for shoes. Harry put them on silently when Sirius handed them over.

"Let's go," he said gruffly. Harry clutched the cloak around him and obeyed, though he stayed half a step behind Sirius instead of matching pace.

The silence pounded against Sirius' temples as they picked their way through the underbrush, being careful to keep to the edge of the trees, close to the water. He kept his wand out, though he recognized his own paranoia—they were nowhere near the parts of the forest that Dumbledore considered out of bounds.

"They'll think I drowned…"

Sirius glanced over at Harry, who was chewing on a lip and watching Sirius with furtive eyes.

Ignoring the tickle at the bottom of his throat, Sirius murmured, "I shouldn't send a message to Dumbledore; someone might recognize my voice."

"Your voice?"

"During the war," Sirius explained as branches cracked underfoot, "we used to signal one another with our Patronuses—the Patronuses would speak with our voices to whomever we needed to contact."

"Oh."

They lapsed into silence again. The only sounds were the soft splashes of fish and the quirky calls of birds in the boughs above them. Sirius narrowed his eyes as they circled around a small dip in the lake's outline. Taking a moment to shift his mind back to romps through this forest with the other Marauders—and to exchange his point of view with a canine's, he muttered, "I think we're going the wrong way." He bit back a colorful expletive and pivoted.

"Why don't we just Apparate back?" Harry asked grumpily from behind.

"We could get closer to Hogwarts then, but I wouldn't want to appear out in the open—"

"Why not to Hogsmeade then?" Harry insisted as he caught up with Sirius. "We could go to the cave."

"Because I don't want you walking back alone and this way we can make it to one of the passages in the back of the castle without being seen—"

"I can walk down the lane to Hogwarts," Harry said stubbornly. It took Sirius a moment to realize he had stopped walking; he turned slowly. Harry wasn't exactly glaring but the line of his jaw wasn't promising. "I walk all over the grounds all the time and nothing ever happens."

"Nothing?" Sirius echoed. "Except when you're stalked by a teacher who is possessed by Voldemort or hunted by Acromantula apparently? And wasn't it you who went after a basilisk?"

"Well, I'm still here, aren't I?" Harry shot back, making Sirius wince to think of how many times fate had intervened in Harry's life. Harry blew out a noisy breath. "You can walk me to the Shrieking Shack if you want or follow me to the sweet shop and I'll take the tunnel from there."

"Thank you very much for that concession," Sirius drawled, "but we are not Apparating."

"Why?" Harry demanded, the word nothing but a puff of frosty air. "Everyone is going to think I drowned—"

Sirius carefully kept his tumble of emotions to himself as he turned back to the forest. "We'll have you back to the castle in an hour or two," he said evenly. "We can't be that far."

"We would be even closer if you would just Apparate to Hogsmeade—"

Sirius spun round, startling Harry enough that he took a step back but Sirius barely noticed. "Are you going to be so disagreeable every time you see me?" he demanded. "I'm very sorry that you don't want a father—or would rather have had James, but I can't actually change any of that and no matter how little time you spend with me, I am still going to be your father."

Harry's entire face had turned crimson. But instead of answering, he swung around and ploughed ahead into the dense trees. Sirius caught up easily though, his voice hoarse as he asked to the back of Harry's head, "What have I done to make you think you would hate having me for a father? If it's only because of how it happened, Harry, I don't know what else to do. How else to make you understand how sorry I am. You have no idea how sorry—"

"I know you're sorry!" Harry spat, stopping so abruptly that Sirius nearly toppled over him. "You already told me how much you regretted it! That you didn't love my mother!" Harry was shouting now, the tendons in his neck straining. "I get it! I'm a bloody _mistake!_ "

Sirius, his mouth already half-open for a retort, frowned. "You are no such thing—"

"Yeah right," Harry said hoarsely. "I heard you perfectly clearly. _A mistake shouldn't change the way you think about your parents._ "

Sirius' chest constricted as his own words were parroted back at him.

"You hate what you did to them and I'm just a reminder of how awful you feel. You don't have to keep explaining it!" Harry's shoulders slumped. "I get it," he whispered.

"Harry…" Harry's eyes were shining as he twisted away, but Sirius grasped his arms, gently turning him when he resisted. "Harry, no…" His throat was clogged and he had to push to make the words come out. "Come here," he breathed, maneuvering Harry so that he was sitting on a large rock they hadn't yet circumvented and he crouched until he was looking directly into Harry's eyes.

"You are not a mistake," he said quietly. "I didn't mean it that way, not at all. I was trying to explain that what your mother and I did… wait," he added quickly when Harry shook his head, "please let me finish. I didn't know what to say to you, and when you said you didn't want a father, I wanted you to know that you didn't have to accept it, that it was all right with me if you didn't want to think of me as anything but your godfather."

"But Harry," he said, his fingers gripping tighter as he watched his kid struggling with tears he refused to shed, "that was a lie. It is _not_ all right with me if you don't want me to be your dad. I've felt wretched for weeks and I know I can't make you happy with the situation and I can't even explain how this feels and I won't be able to I think; not until you have a child of your own, but knowing that you're my son…"

Sirius felt himself smiling, as he always did when it hit him like that. "It's the most extraordinary feeling," he said quietly. "And perhaps it's a terrible thing to say because I truly did not want to hurt James, but I'm very glad I spent that night with your mother. You wouldn't be you, don't you see?"

Harry didn't answer; his nose was twitching with his effort to keep the tears away. Sirius conjured a handkerchief and pressed it into Harry's palm. Harry swiped at his runny nose, sniffling almost silently.

Smiling softly, Sirius brushed the errant fringe from Harry's eyes. "I know I told you that I didn't love your mother—not in the way you wanted me to, but if it helps at all, I think I could have loved her. If James hadn't come back to us, I could have; she was an extraordinary woman, Harry and I did feel close to her when we were together. I didn't think you wanted to hear this or I would have tried to explain better. I don't know if you want to hear it now…"

Harry swallowed, but his indrawn was shaky and he only shook his head, although Sirius didn't think it was really an answer to that particular question.

"You are not a mistake," Sirius repeated, firmly this time as resolve and renewed warmth made his voice strong. "I could not be happier that you are my son."

Harry swallowed again and his voice cracked as it emerged, "But you didn't want to betray James."

"I know… It's a complicated mess, Harry, but it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is you and me; that we're here and even if you just want a godfather, I can live with that, even if it will probably kill me." He tried a lopsided smile but instead of humour, Harry's eyes filled with tears.

"I didn't mean that," he said thickly, swiping at his eyes with a wrist. "I didn't mean to say it."

A pent-up breath escaped Sirius' lips. His smile wobbled. Hoping it was the right thing to do, he stood, pulling Harry with him and into his arms. It was all the encouragement Harry needed and he was hugging Sirius just as tightly.

"I'm sorry I made you feel unwanted," Sirius murmured as his fingers wove through the dark hair. "I never want you to feel that way. You are more important to me than anything, do you understand that?"

Relief swept though him as Harry nodded. He closed his eyes on the gathered tears and let his cheek rest amongst the tangles.


	8. Along a Jagged Parallel

The quiet engulfed them for a long time. Sirius eventually dropped a kiss to the top of Harry's head and then pulled him to arm's length to study the red-rimmed eyes; his spectacles had fogged.

"Here…" Sirius slid them off, untucked his shirt and circled the corner over the lenses. Harry gave his eyes a quick rub and raked a hand through his hair though it didn't really help the disarray.

"Thanks," he murmured when Sirius offered the spectacles. He sniffed loudly as he hooked the arms over his ears. "What?" he asked as he found Sirius smiling.

Sirius shook his head. "Nothing… You're wearing swimming trunks down to your ankles, no sleeves and my father's best cloak."

Smiling faintly, Harry tugged at the hem of his shirt.

"Shall we return you to Hogwarts, then?" Sirius asked, grateful at least that he'd got a smile; even if it was a miniscule one.

"Guess so," Harry said as he drew the edges of the cloak together.

"Cold?"

Harry shook his head.

"Hm," Sirius grunted as they skirted round the rock, "this Crouch fellow must be mad to have thought a dip in the lake in January was a sound idea."

"The water wasn't cold," Harry said with a shrug. "And Dumbledore cast a charm over everyone watching."

Sirius plucked a particularly long branch out of his path and gestured for Harry to go first. It swished back into place a moment later. "Are you upset that you may be disqualified?" Sirius asked, uncertain in this new quiet.

"Not really," Harry said, ducking under another low branch. "I didn't want to be in the tournament in the first place."

That was certainly true enough… Harry's lament about his being forced into the contest had been one of his longest letters. "Are you… upset with me?" Sirius asked. Harry glanced at him, but he was worrying lip as he shook his head.

Sirius stopped walking and Harry stopped as well. "I'm not," he said quickly but Sirius' shoulders tensed. "It was a stupid thing to think anyway," Harry added, his face screwing up, "because you're the only person who's really ever—" He shrugged and looked away.

Sirius took his chin. "I'm not the only person who has ever loved you," he said, nudging Harry's face up. "And I am not the only person now. Hermione and Ron certainly do, though I doubt you would be able to force that confession out of Ron. All of the Weasleys do. And Dumbledore and Remus."

"Yeah, I know," Harry mumbled, his cheeks dark red. "I just meant…" With a vague gesture he gave up.

"Oy," Sirius said with a smile, "I'm pants at reading your mind, mate. Sit," he said. He plopped on a rotted tree trunk and jerked his head at the empty space beside him. "Easier to talk when you're sitting."

Harry sat, but if his taut lips were anything to go by, it was with great reluctance. Sirius waited and Harry finally sighed. "Hermione told me I was being an idiot; not about what you said, I didn't tell them." He muttered to his knees, "I was really sore at you."

"You are not an idiot," Sirius said quietly. "You were shocked and hurt, especially after you thought I was unhappy."

Harry's fingertips gouged his kneecaps. "But at least you didn't mind having me around."

"I loved having you around," Sirius corrected, realizing that they hadn't got far at all. "It was the best Christmas I've ever had."

"Yeah, _Christmas_ was…"

"Well, yes," Sirius admitted, "it did go rather pear-shaped for awhile there, didn't it?"

Harry glanced at him, the worry piercing Sirius through. "I still preferred that to your being at the Weasleys," he said. Harry's brows furrowed and Sirius couldn't decide whether to smile or groan at the surprise. He tapped his finger against Harry's forehead, making him blink. "I'm rather fond of you, or was that not clear?"

Harrry flushed again. "I know."

"Good—"

A deafening pop made both of them freeze, but only for an instant and then Sirius was on his feet, shielding Harry as he aimed his wand at the shivering trees in front of them. He punched out a breath as Dumbledore emerged, shaking pine needles from his feather-adorned hat. Fawkes and Hagrid followed close behind.

"Ah," the headmaster murmured with a smile as he looked up, "just as I suspected."

"Aye," Hagrid agreed, smiling as well. "Good to see you're alive, Harry. Had us worried." He greeted Sirius with an enthusiastic handshake, mumbled with embarrassment something about believing 'the nonsense some were spreadin' and then while Dumbledore sent a silver bird from the tip of his wand, Hagrid told Sirius he kept his motorcycle safe for him, whenever he was ready for it.

"Are you quite all right, both of you?" Dumbledore asked once Sirius had thanked Hagrid.

"We are," Sirius assured him.

"How did you find us so quickly?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled. "When I discovered that people were the items of value to the champions, I thought it likely that Sirius would be yours. And when you didn't emerge, I realized that you wouldn't have wanted to bring him back to the starting point. From there, it was a simple matter to find the place where the Merpeople held the hostages."

"A simple matter?" Sirius echoed dubiously.

"The swim was rather refreshing," Dumbledore told him as he moved his hat from its precarious angle. "Though the seaweed was a bit feisty. I am impressed you managed to fight your way through it, Harry."

"Er… thanks sir."

"You were attacked by _seaweed_?"

"You need not worry about Harry's safety where the tournament is concerned, Sirius," Dumbledore answered before Harry could, "as he will no longer be competing."

"Because he didn't bring me back?" Sirius asked, glancing at Harry, who simply looked resigned.

"The rules state that if one of the champions does not complete a task, he or she will be disqualified," Dumbledore explained. "And I must say I am relieved, Harry, since I did not like your being involved. I do hope you aren't terribly disappointed?"

Harry shrugged. "They'll never let me hear the end of it, but I'm just glad no one saw Sirius."

"As am I," the headmaster agreed. Sirius put an arm around Harry's shoulders, smiling as Harry looked up.

"Well," the headmaster said with a wide smile, "shall we adjourn to my office, then?" He took Fawkes' tail and gestured for them to do the same. "For a spot of a tea… perhaps a shirt with sleeves?"

Before either of them could answer, Fawkes took them away.

\--

Pomfrey was waiting. She fussed over them, clucking at Harry's attire and Sirius' lack of coat.

"If I hadn't given it to Harry, you would have scolded me for at least an hour," he chuckled.

"None of your cheek," she chided. "And sit down. Albus, where is the tea? Mr. Potter," she said sharply as he started to sit beside Sirius, "you're not wearing socks! Or a proper shirt, I might add. The toilet is through that door there; clothes."

She handed him a neat stack, with his trainers on top, no indication of where she might have got it. " _Now_ , if you please. Albus, tea. Or did you want them to develop hypothermia?"

"No indeed," the headmaster said with a smile. Harry hadn't moved; Sirius made a shooing motion. Harry sighed and went through the plain door.

"Half of Gryffindor tower is waiting at the gargoyle," Pomfrey said as she accepted a cup of steaming tea from Dumbledore. "The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were plotting some sort of coup when I came up."

"They do have the cleverest ideas, those three. Biscuit, Sirius?"

Sirius pressed his smirk away. "No, thank you."

Dumbledore bit off one of the ends of the U-shaped treat. "Delicious," he murmured appreciatively.

Pomfrey sighed; she was already packing her bag. "I must be on my way," she said. "Ms. Delacour's sister was taken ill after she was recovered; shock, I believe."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said. He ushered her with a gentlemanly elbow to the door. While they conversed in low tones, Harry emerged from the loo in a jumper and jeans.

Sirius took the wad of clothes from Harry. "Better?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He brushed his palms against his thighs as he sat. With Dumbledore still by the door, Sirius leaned over.

"You all right?"

Harry seemed to be considering the answer to that. "What does he want, do you think?"

Sirius glanced back in surprise at the headmaster. "How do you mean?"

Ducking his head, Harry whispered, "It's always bad news."

Sirius furrowed his brow but before he could ask Harry to explain that, Dumbledore joined them. "Would you care for tea, Harry? It's raspberry."

"Oh. Yes, sir. Thank you."

Dumbledore handed him the tea and then crossed to the fireplace to adjust the flames. "There we are," he said, straightening after a moment. "Very cozy." He slid the poker back into its place on the hearth stand. "I hope you won't mind," he said as he sat in the chair opposite them, "but the swim did leave me a bit cold." He toed off his grey shoes and stretched his socked feet toward the fire, wiggling his toes inside their rainbow-striped encasing. "Biscuit, Harry?"

While Harry munched, Dumbledore poured himself a cup of tea. "As soon as you feel ready," he said over the rim of the tea cup, "your friends are waiting for you in the corridor. Fred and George Weasley are apparently plotting my overthrow in hopes of your return."

Harry smiled over his biscuit. His eyes twinkling, Dumbledore handed him another.

"So," a deep voice said, "this is the heir to our esteemed line?"

Sirius and Harry twisted their necks; Dumbledore continued to sip his tea. "Now Phineas," he chided softly, "surely this isn't necessary."

"It certainly is," the black-haired portrait said loudly from high above their heads; Sirius sighed, having heard more of this man's bluster than he had ever cared to. "This boy is the talk of the corridor—and I do not mind telling you, Sirius, your mother is most displeased."

"Shocking," Sirius muttered. Phineas scowled.

"You are still a disrespectful whelp, I see. And I assume your son is only going to follow in your footsteps. I knew it was a mistake to ever allow you into Wizarding society."

Sirius didn't answer, but only just; Harry was gazing at Phineas with dismay. "My great-great-great grandfather," Sirius explained with a strained smile. "Phineas Nigellus."

"I would need no introduction," Phineas said, lifting his chin with a haughty air, "if you had been brought up properly." He raised an eyebrow when Harry didn't answer. "Have you no manners either?" he asked sharply.

"Don't speak to him like that," Sirius intervened before Harry could respond. "In fact, don't speak to him at all."

Phineas harrumphed. "You will certainly do him no favors—"

"Phineas, please," Dumbledore interrupted in a quiet voice.

"Very well," Phineas said with ill-grace, "but I fail to see why Regulus would have wasted such powerful magic on him. At least Sirius' blood is pure, no matter what he did with a Mudblood—"

"Phineas!" Albus' voice echoed round the office as Sirius surged to his feet.

"Wait," he said quickly, interrupting the headmaster's intention to scold Phineas for his use of the epithet. "How do you know about Reg's curse? And how do you know the magic went to Harry?" It was absolutely absurd to feel so elated.

Phineas narrowed his eyes. "I beg your pardon? You think, _I_ , of all of us in this wretched corridor, would not know—"

"I'm not interested in your power struggles," Sirius barked. And then wondered why he hadn't thought of the obvious. "Did Regulus tell you that?"

"Of course not, stupid boy. He is not with us."

Sirius narrowed his eyes and he was about to demand again that his paint and canvas grandfather tell him what he knew, but Dumbledore and Harry were staring at him, Harry with several worried lines denting his forehead.

"Sorry," Sirius said quietly as he sat down, though he couldn't have said what he was apologizing for.

"What did he mean?" Harry asked, his gaze darting to Phineas, who had returned to looking as unpleasant and regal as ever.

"He does not know?" Phineas demanded. "You have not told him that he controls our family's most ancient magic? Magic, I might add, that has no business in the hands of a half-blood."

"I don't understand…" Harry was looking between Phineas and Sirius.

"I…" Sirius shook his head, trying to clear it and asked Phineas, "Regulus used Rigel's magic?"

"Are you implying that Harry has somehow come into possession of Rigel Black's stolen inheritance?" Dumbledore asked, his voice as incredulous as Sirius had ever heard.

"It was not stolen, and I am not implying it, Albus," Phineas huffed. "The entire family has been trying to come to terms with this travesty for fifteen years!"

Dumbledore's fingertips pressed against his lips. "Dear me…"

Sirius had a moment of vicious anger toward his brother then. The most volatile of their family's history and the darkest by far. Of course he hadn't meant to give that unstable power to _Harry_ , but that dimmed Sirius' irritation not at all.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, his voice sharp enough that they all turned to him.

Sirius pressed his palms together as he considered how to explain. "Rigel Black was one of my ancestors—"

"One of?" Phineas sputtered.

"Yes," Sirius said through his teeth, "one of them. He stole Merlin's magic on his deathbed."

"He did no such thing! How dare you besmirch his name!"

Sirius let out a frustrated breath. "It was never proven," he allowed, "but it is fairly well accepted by everyone other than the Black family that Rigel stole it."

Harry cocked his head. "But, what does that have to do with me?"

And so Sirius had to repeat the story of Regulus' curse. "I didn't know specifically about Rigel's magic," he finished gently, "but I think that might have been how you were protected from Voldemort that night—perhaps how he died."

Harry hadn't interrupted the story once, and he sat now, staring at a spot over Sirius' shoulder. Sirius squeezed his fingers and said, "Perhaps the Headmaster can…" He trailed off; Dumbledore was gripping his chair.

"Albus?"

Harry looked up at Sirius' concerned query. Dumbledore blinked and then his blue eyes focused on Harry, so intense that a shiver curled up Sirius' spine.

"Are you absolutely certain?" Dumbledore asked quietly as he switched his gaze to Sirius. "Regulus believed this curse would be powerful enough to defeat Voldemort?"

"Yes," Sirius said, his brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out this unexpected reaction. "He said he designed it to have power over Voldemort—a power he knows not, I believe were his exact words."

Dumbledore's lips pressed together for a moment.

"Do you think the stolen magic might be harmful to Harry?"

"Of course it is not harmful," Phineas interrupted yet again. "He would be a more powerful wizard even than Merlin himself had he been trained properly, which I might add, was your job as his father, Sirius."

"Yes, thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore sighed.

Sirius ignored his urge to hurl a retort at his granfather. "This is dark magic and extremely unstable," he said instead. "Rigel couldn't control it."

"You failed your history lessons, if I recall correctly," Phineas said with a sneer.

"Do you have anything helpful to add?" Sirius asked, swiveling in his seat.

Phineas looked down his nose, finally saying grumpily, "Obviously, the magic has yet to be activated. Unless Harry is only pretending to be a mediocre wizard?"

"Oy!" Sirius protested, his spine stiffening. "Harry is not mediocre."

"I'm not exactly Hermione," Harry put in. "How does a person steal magic anyway?"

Sirius scowled at Phineas before answering, "With magic dark enough to kill the wizard casting it."

"Which it didn't!" Phineas said triumphantly. "He did not steal it. Merlin gave it to him for his noble services to the king."

"Can't you cast a silencing spell on him?" Sirius asked Dumbledore under his breath. The headmaster sighed.

"Unfortunately no. But I do think he is correct that somehow the magic would have to be activated. It would have interfered in Harry's spells otherwise. No doubt Regulus would have explained everything in his memories. It is a pity you were not able to retrieve them. If you wish," he said, "I might have better luck?"

Since he had not explained his father's part in the loss of the memories, Sirius simply shook his head. "I shouldn't think so." Dumbledore studied him over his spectacles for a protracted moment and then turned his attention to Harry.

"It is unlikely that the magic poses a risk to you."

"OK," Harry said uncertainly. "Didn't I tell you it's always bad news?" he muttered to Sirius.

"It isn't exactly _bad_ news…"

"It's not really good news either, is it? Wonky magic just sitting there inside me?"

"Fair point," Sirius conceded.

"It is not sitting inside you." Phineas heaved out a sigh. "Utterly ridiculous notion. The magic is simply at your command. Sitting inside you, indeed. It is not a congealed lump of gruel."

Harry flushed. "Close enough," Sirius said, entirely tempted to send a blasting spell at the portrait.

Phineas harrumphed but chose not to answer.

"I do think it might be worth a study," Dumbledore said. He glanced up at Phineas. "Do you know how the magic is activated?"

"I do not," Phineas answered in his most disgruntled voice.

"Do you know who might?"

Phineas crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"The information has to be somewhere in your house, doesn't it?" Harry asked.

"Grimmauld Place isn't the only Black residence," Sirius murmured, "and Regulus was quite close to our cousins. Draco's mother for one."

"Right," Harry said, nodding. "He was on the tapestry."

Sirius wondered if he had yet realized that that made Draco his cousin as well.

"The library at Grimmauld Place might be the best place to start," said Dumbledore.

Reluctant to return to his family home, Sirius hesitated. "If you don't think there is any danger to Harry…"

"I am grateful that you have such faith in me," Dumbledore said, dipping his chin, "but I cannot know for certain. And if you are able to bear another visit to your father's home, the knowledge might put your mind at ease."

Sirius glanced at Harry. Making certain that he was safe was certainly worth another trip into the ninth circle.

"And as Harry often seems to find himself in difficult situations," Dumbledore added with a delicate cough. Harry frowned at that, but Sirius had already made up his mind.

"I suppose it won't hurt to do a bit of research," he said, his eyes for Harry. "My father's library is quite large though; a person could get lost in there." His smile faltered; Harry's upper lip was caught between his teeth. "What's the matter?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, nothing… Will you let me know what you find, then?"

He was pinching his knees again, his voice not at all easy.

"Absolutely," Sirius said, knowing then that he had read Harry's expression correctly just by the way his shoulders hunched up. "Unless you want to come with me?"

Harry came quickly out of his slouch, his green eyes lighting up. "Yeah?"

"I certainly have no objection," Dumbledore chimed in, seeming not to notice that he hadn't actually been asked. "And in fact, Harry's presence might even prove necessary, since he is the intended recipient of Rigel's power."

Harry grinned, the first genuine expression of happiness Sirius had seen since Christmas. He smiled, no longer dreading the return to Grimmauld Place.


	9. Lurks an Open Secret

Outside Dumbledore's window, a brown owl gave an impatient hoot.

As the headmaster waved his fingers and the window opened, a gust of cold air raised the hair at the back of Sirius' neck.

"Thank you." Dumbledore unrolled the offered scroll, his snowy eyebrows making a pensive line about his spectacles. "Hmm… this is most unexpected," he said as he let the message roll up with a snap. "It seems Harry will not be disqualified from the tournament."

"But I didn't finish the task."

"No, you did not."

"May I see that?" Sirius asked, leaning forward and indicating the scroll. Dumbledore handed it over silently. It was from Crouch, and he wasted half the space complaining that Dumbledore's gargoyle refused to admit him. And the rest pontificating about how it would look if the Boy-Who-Lived was not allowed to finish the competition. "This is absurd."

"I have always believed as much about Mr. Crouch," Dumbledore said, standing from his chair. "I will speak with him, hm?" It was a question for Sirius, with his eyebrows high on his forehead. With Sirius' nod, Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Perhaps you would like to reassure your friends before you leave?"

"Er, yeah, I guess. I mean, yes sir," Harry amended, but Dumbledore wasn't paying particular attention to Harry's speech. He had turned back to Sirius.

"I will send Harry along after I speak with Mr. Crouch," he said; his tone was ominous. He waved his fingers and his decorative pot of Floo powder came to hover in front of Sirius. Sirius ignored the creak of sore muscles as he stood and crossed to the floo, Harry watching him the entire journey. With an encouraging smile, Sirius threw the powder down and stepped into the green flames.

\--

"We were really frightened," Hermione said as she hugged Harry tightly. He gave her back a few awkward pats until she let him go.

"Who did you rescue?" Seamus demanded behind her. "Or did…" He made a flapping motion with his hand while the others watched with sudden concern.

"It was my cousin," Harry said quickly, giving the answer that Dumbledore had suggested on their way down the stairs; the headmaster had already disappeared with Crouch. "But he er… well, something went wrong with the enchantment and he woke up so I had to take him to the surface."

His voice had grown more confident as his audience nodded. Except Ron and Hermione; they exchanged a dubious glance.

"Is that why you weren't disqualified?" George asked.

"That Crouch fellow told us you wouldn't be," Fred added.

"Erm…" Harry rubbed at the back of his neck, bunching the collar of his jumper in his fingers. "I reckon… yeah."

"Harry, you ought to rest," Hermione broke in, her voice full of authority. "Madame Pomfrey said you should." She took his arm before he agreed, ensconced between her and Ron, they made their way through the group, farewells and sympathies echoing behind.

"Dudley," Ron muttered under his breath once they were alone. " _He's_ your great treasure?"

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione asked, just as quietly but without the sarcasm.

Harry glanced around quickly before whispering, "It was Snuffles."

Hermione simply nodded, though Ron looked properly surprised.

"You swam directly up to the surface, didn't you? So the other champions wouldn't see him?" She sighed when Harry nodded. "You see how much he means to you, Harry?" she whispered. "Even when you're incredibly angry with him, your unconscious mind—"

"I know," he cut her off. He ducked his head from the sudden appraisal in her eyes.

"You're not still angry are you? Harry," she said, exasperation deepening her whisper, "he didn't mean to hurt you and isn't it more important that you have—"

"Yes," Harry interrupted impatiently. "I'm not angry, all right?" He dug his hands into his pockets as they climbed the last few steps to the seventh floor. "It was stupid anyway."

"What happened?" Hermione asked. Ron nudged her arm.

"Let him alone, Hermione, he doesn't want to talk about it."

Hermione huffed but didn't ask any further questions. All three of them halted when Ginny emerged from around a corner. Her hair was blue.

"Blimey, Ginny!" Ron chortled. His sister scowled.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, peering at the spiky halo.

"Nothing," she muttered. Hermione pointed her wand and uttered a spell. The blue melted away. Ginny flashed a quick smile. "Malfoy was a being a git," she explained as they stepped through the portrait hole a moment later. "He was disappointed you weren't drowned," she said to Harry. "And Parkinson didn't like me hexing him."

Hermione smiled while Ron congratulated his sister.

Harry grinned at her too. "Brilliant," he commented. She smiled as she sat down in one of the chairs, her cheeks rosy.

"Everything all right?" she asked. "You didn't really save Dudley, did you? I saw the twins a minute ago. They didn't believe that either, you know."

"Snuffles," Harry explained. Ginny's eyebrows swept up and then a slow smile lit up her face.

"Well, that's brilliant. I imagine he was quite pleased to see you."

Running his thumb along the seam in his jeans, Harry shrugged.

"Of course he was," Hermione insisted.

"I know," Harry said on a heavy breath. He rubbed the heel of his hand over and over the worn denim. "I'm supposed to go Grimmauld Place."

Three sets of raised eyebrows this time. And he only stopped to wonder if he shouldn't have explained about the curse to his friends, once the story was already told.

Ron whistled into the silence. "Rigel Black…"

"You've heard of him?"

"Of course," Ron scoffed. "Everyone's heard of Rigel Black."

"Our mum used to tell us stories about him," Ginny offered.

"Like… in a fairy tale?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. He was always the hero."

"She had a crush on him," Ron said with a smirk.

"I did not," Ginny muttered through her glare. "Shut up."

"But if it's only a fairy tale…" Hermione interrupted before Ron could retort. "Are you certain that's what he said? Your grandfather?"

"My… what?"

"Your grandfather," Hermione repeated, as slowly as if Harry were a troll. "Snuffles said the portrait was his great-grandfather, didn't he? Which means he's your grandfather as well."

"Er… well, yeah, I suppose."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So the two of you are going to look for more information, then?" Ginny asked.

"Mmhm."

Hermione frowned. "Don't you want to?"

Harry forced his fingers to stop twisting the hem of his jumper. "Course…" He gave a sharp nod. "Yeah, I do. But he doesn't really need me to help I don't think. I mean, it's his house and he grew up there and everything…" He frowned and slumped back against the cushion but of course that didn't help sort his tangled thoughts.

"But he's expecting you, isn't he?"

Harry lifted his eyes. "Yeah, but I would probably be in the way—"

"Harry," she said in her favorite scolding tone, "you can't brush him off again—"

"I'm not," he protested, his voice sharper than he had intended.

"You made him wait all day in Hogsmeade," she reminded him blithely. "He must have felt awful about that."

Harry stood so swiftly, his legs weren't quite ready and he struggled to right himself.

"Harry, are you—"

Harry scowled and Ginny fell silent. His face was glowing by the time he turned toward the stairs.

"Harry… Harry, wait…"

But he ignored Hermione's frantic call. He heard Ginny murmuring something and then Hermione's voice faded away.

Feeling incredibly stupid, Harry's footsteps slowed as he went up the stairs and by the time he reached his room, he was completely drained of anger.

It wasn't as though Hermione had said something that wasn't true. He _had_ been a prat. And yet, Sirius still wanted him to come to Grimmauld Place.

_I loved having you there_ , Sirius even said.

Harry swallowed to soothe the prickles as he ran his fingers over the window pane, drawing a line through the frost.

He could see the lake in the distance; Hagrid, with fang by his side, was dismantling the elaborate dock the spectators had used to watch the competition. With a heavy sigh, Harry sat on his bed. His eyes went automatically to the framed picture on his side table as they always did. His mum and dad smiled at him, the two of them dancing as if there wasn't a care in the world.

Like cold water, it hit him. Not his mum and dad. The bespectacled man grinning at him wasn't his dad. The man who looked just like him—or so everybody said—wasn't his father.

He was just James, the man his mother married.

The prickles overtook Harry's throat but he pressed his molars together to keep tears from materializing and picked up the frame. He wasn't just James. He had died trying to save Harry when he was a baby. James had been his dad then. He had probably rocked him to sleep and sang to him—or at least Harry used to like to imagine that his dad had once done those things.

Had dreamt about it while his aunt and uncle fussed over Dudley sometimes.

Harry tilted the frame so that James' glasses winked at him. His mum looked so happy as she twirled in his arms. And for the hundredth time since he saw the tapestry, Harry wondered if she had suspected the truth.

He hoped not.

"Harry?"

Tentative footsteps followed Hermione's soft query. Harry drew a breath through his nostrils to clear his sinuses and glanced up, greeting her with an equally quiet, "Hey."

Her eyebrows were pinched together, her lips strained. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

He shrugged and turned back to the photo. "You were right. I don't know what's wrong with me."

He didn't realize how tightly he was clutching the picture until the bed dipped and Hermione put her hand over his. Swallowing through his suddenly dry throat, he uncurled his fingers and set the frame back on the table.

"There isn't anything wrong with you," she said quietly. "It will take time to get used to, that's all."

Still gazing at the picture, Harry didn't answer. When his parents began to blur, she murmured, "I don't think Sirius means for you to forget your dad."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" he said, not expecting an answer. "He isn't my dad."

Hermione squeezed his fingers and Harry let himself be comforted by the warmth and weight of her hand. "I don't think a dad has to be related to you biologically. James loved you. And Sirius knows that."

Harry sighed and turned away from the picture. "I've wanted parents all my life. Bit stupid to be upset now that I have one."

"I think you're just confused."

In spite of himself, Harry smiled. "You don't say…"

She shrugged and nudged him, a sheepish smile softening the lines worrying her forehead.

They sat in the quiet for some time, neither of them mentioning the ticking clock—Harry pretending it wasn't quite so loud. And finally, when he found the courage he admitted, "He was really hurt that I didn't come to Hogsmeade."

He thought Hermione was guarding her tone carefully when she asked, "But you knew he was expecting you, didn't you?"

Harry felt his cheeks warming even as neutrally as the question emerged. "I was really angry..." Hermione's small frown told him exactly what she thought of that excuse. "I'm the world's biggest git, aren't I?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," she said, probably trying to sound comforting. "But I do think you should talk to Sirius; tell him whatever you're worried about—"

But Harry was already shaking his head. "I can't do that."

"Why not? That's what a parent is for. And besides," she said sensibly when Harry tried to protest, "I think he would rather you tell him you don't know what to do about your dad than not come at all.

_What to do about your dad…_

Which one, Harry wanted to scoff. But even the thought was ludicrous. Because James Potter didn't really matter any longer, did he? Even if he had died trying to protect the boy he had thought was his son.

Although… Harry thought James would have tried to save him even if he had known the truth. From Sirius' and Remus' descriptions of him, he didn't really seem the abandon a helpless baby sort.

Why then, did Harry want to throw that bloody picture across the room?

"I'm completely mental," he muttered.

"This situation is completely mental," Hermione corrected. "Whoever heard of a person finding out he has a different father? Not to mention discovering he might possess more power than You-Know-Who."

Harry groaned. "Not helping, Hermione."

"Sorry," she said, grimacing. "But you know I'm right about going home."

The easy way that rolled off her tongue made Harry's stomach sink. Which was completely mental as well. Who fretted about a home, for God's sake?

"He invited me to live with him," Harry said, half under his breath. "Right before Remus became a werewolf that night…"

"He did?"

Harry nodded. "He's supposed to be my guardian anyway." He blew out a breath and wished his mum would stop smiling at him. "It doesn't even matter."

"Of course it does. It matters because you wouldn't have thought twice about going to see him a month ago."

Harry shook his head. "You don't understand—"

"No," she agreed easily. "But Sirius might."

With his head bowed, he gazed at her and tried to believe that.

\--

When Harry finally stumbled into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, he emerged with soot flying everywhere. He coughed as he steadied himself on one of the chairs, his eyes scanning the kitchen. Only the candles flickering against the walls greeted him.

Surprised that Sirius wasn't pacing the kitchen, Harry half-expected him to emerge at the top of the stairs. But then maybe Sirius had given up on him. Realizing he didn't much care for that thought, he brushed his hands against his jeans and left a trail of the dark ash along his thighs.

"Vile interloper…"

Harry stepped back as Kreacher ambled toward him. The elf blinked up at him with wide, wet eyes.

"Erm… do you know where Sirius is?" Harry asked, trying not to be bothered by the contemptuous stare.

"Master Black is a treacherous wizard, not to be trusted."

Harry frowned. "No he isn't—"

"Master Regulus trusted Master Black," the elf said, accusation twisting his features.

Before Harry could ask what he meant, Kreacher elbowed past and disappeared into his cupboard. Sighing, Harry hitched his backpack into a more comfortable position and went slowly up the stairs. The house seemed darker and there were more shadows dancing in illicit patterns against the walls.

The library door was open and light was spilling into the corridor. When Harry stopped just over the threshold, he could see Sirius standing at the top of a ladder; several open books hovered about his head. He was frowning over another, the pages turning with the flicks of his fingers.

Harry hadn't quite decided to go in when Sirius looked up. A smile warmed his features.

"Hey there. I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

The nervous prickles exploded in Harry's stomach and he wondered if Sirius was remembering waiting alone in Hogsmeade all day.

Still smiling, Sirius plucked the book he was reading from the air. He ducked under the others but they followed him down the ladder anyway. He hopped from the last rung and sent them to his bed with a wave. "Everything all right?" he asked. He was studying Harry closely now even though he hadn't moved.

"Mmhm…"

"You're certain?"

"Yeah," Harry said as he curled his fingers around his sleeves, "I just… it took a bit longer than I thought it would."

Sirius' eyebrows pinched together, but only for a moment. "Well," he said, "I'm glad you're here." He glanced at the clock on the desk. "I ate a sandwich earlier, but—"

"That's all right," Harry said quickly. "I'm really not hungry anyway."

"I rather doubt that," Sirius said, with a smile that didn't seem to match the words. "I was going to say I was still hungry; something to do with being dumped in a lake, I think. The Hogwarts' elves brought a basket of food. I'll show you what I've found while we eat."

"Oh," Harry murmured, feeling stupid. And then when he realized what else Sirius had said, he asked, "You found something?"

"Not much," Sirius said, jiggling the book he was still holding. "Just a brief mention of Rigel in my uncle's family history." His eyebrows went up a notch as he came closer. "You brought your things? Are you staying here?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder at his bag. "Er… well, is that not all right? I mean, Hermione suggested it and I just thought, since it was so late—"

"Of course it's all right," Sirius interrupted gently. "Anytime, in fact."

Harry tried a small smile. "Oh… well, thanks."

Sirius tapped his cheek with the back of his fingers. "Not necessary."

Some of the knots eased with the assurance, and Harry nodded; his throat was tight.

His grey eyes warm, Sirius took the bag as Harry shrugged it off and put it on the bed Harry had used over Christmas. "Come on," he murmured as he caught Harry's neck on the way back and nudged him into the corridor.

\--

Sirius set a full plate in front of Harry before retrieving his own and sliding into the chair adjacent.

He was about to push the book across the table but Harry had torn into the sandwich as if he hadn't eaten for days. And as Sirius watched him swallow almost without stopping to chew, he knew a sharp pang of guilt. Harry should have been with him, instead of Lily's sister, who had obviously made a poor job of teaching Harry what it meant to be somebody's child.

Rising quietly, Sirius made another bacon sandwich and snatched an apple and a pear from the basket. He replaced the demolished sandwich, and got a quick thanks in response. Sirius smiled at him before tucking in.

Two pieces of cake later, Harry finally pushed his plate away. He sucked off a smear of chocolate from the side of his hand as he accepted the book with the other.

"One of my uncles wrote a family history," Sirius explained as Harry ran a finger over the gold lettering. "It's completely biased but it does at least give us somewhere to start with Rigel. The first chapter is devoted to him."

Harry flipped the cover, his eyes scanning the family tree imprinted on the pages. "This says Rigel was Merlin's son…"

Sirius leaned over, peering where Harry was pointing even though he had already studied this particular page. "I personally never believed that. It's a conceit though, for a pureblood wizard to be able to trace their history to Merlin. The Malfoys, Lestranges, the Bulstrodes, and a host of other families make the same claim, though I do actually think Molly Weasley's father was a direct descendent."

Harry was staring at him and Sirius shrugged, having not meant to prattle on. "Sorry," he said. "Don't mean to bore you."

But Harry shook his head. "How do you know all that?"

Sirius smiled a little. "My parents insisted that I understand our family's history, Wizarding history along with it—the portions where the purebloods triumph anyway. My brother and I had private tutors as early as I can remember. We used to be required to recite one of the branches of the tree before we were allowed to sit down to dinner."

Harry' lip curled, distaste marking his expression but he didn't comment, instead turning the pages to the first chapter. "It says here that Rigel was one of Merlin's apprentices…" He wrinkled his nose. "Seems strange that he would apprentice his son."

"He might have if another master wasn't easily found," Sirius said, shrugging. "Or if Merlin thought there was no one as qualified. Which, he probably did. By all accounts, Merlin was not a humble man."

Harry quirked a smile before going back to the pages. "Wizards don't usually gift their magic though, do they? Like your…" He glanced up. "… like Phineas Nigellus said?"

"Sometimes, yes they do," Sirius answered, ignoring Harry's unease over his own relationship to Phineas. "Especially if whoever it is being gifted to needs it for protection."

Harry's lips turned down as he concentrated on the printed words. "It doesn't say much about him after he got the magic. Just that his daughter had three children and so on and so on." He looked up again. "But what did he do with all that magic?"

Sirius' smiled at the indignation. "If he stole it, I don't imagine it was anything good."

Harry chewed on his lower lip as he mulled that over and then nodded. "This doesn't help much, does it?"

"I'm afraid not," Sirius sighed. "We do have an entire library to scour though," he said, smiling as he slid back his chair. "There is an entire wall of books full of dark magic," he explained as they wound their way back to the library. "Some of them are actually cursed so best to leave those alone." He pointed along the section in the far corner. "One of them burned my hand when I was four."

"How do you read a book that burns you?" Harry asked, with more curiosity than worry.

"You don't; unless you know the proper counter-curse."

"Oh."

"You can take the ladder, if you want," Sirius said, pulling Harry's eyes from a full scan of the room. "Since I know you're not afraid of heights."

Harry smiled. But quickly turned serious again. "What are we looking for?"

"Books on old family magic, anything about Rigel or curses," Sirius murmured, eyes already glancing over the rows. "The books are all in alphabetical order; they'll go right back to their places with just a tap to their covers…"

"How did you find that one your uncle wrote?"

Sirius glanced over his shoulder. "It was one of the texts I studied with my tutor."

Harry cocked his head, lips pursed in thought. "Wouldn't it be easier to just summon the books you want?"

"If I knew the titles, it would be," Sirius said. He studied the colorful spines again. "Though I suppose we could specify books with Rigel's name in them…"

"Brilliant. Here, I'll do it—"

Sirius turned quickly. Harry had his wand out, the spell already forming on his tongue. "Wait—"

But it was too late. With a flurry of movement and the loud fluttering of thousands of pages, dozens of books leapt from the shelves.

From every direction, they dove straight for Harry. His wand out in the next second, Sirius pointed it at Harry. "Protego!" He could see the magic unsettling the air as the shield sprang up, even as Harry tried to dodge the projectiles. Harsh thuds rang through the library, one after the other as the books smashed into the invisible barrier and then thudded to the floor.

"Finite," Sirius sighed when the air was clear.

Harry straightened from his protective slouch as Sirius moved toward him. His face was pale, which made his eyes seem more intensely green than usual. "Sorry," he mumbled; embarrassment was already beginning to dust his cheeks.

"You all right?" Sirius asked, his voice soft with worry. His eyes were roaming for damage even though none of the books had made it past the shield.

"Yeah." Harry scrubbed a hand across his cheek. "Sorry," he said again, this time with a grimace.

"No need to be." Sirius gripped a shoulder, smiling when Harry raised his eyes. "We've found all the books, haven't we?"

That instant smile again, even if there was anxiety deep in the bright eyes.

"Here," Sirius said, and with two smart spells, the books were in neat piles on the desk. "You begin at this end and we'll meet in the middle, eh?"

"Right," Harry said, nodding as if giving a solemn vow. Sirius watched him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, wishing he knew what might break the tension hanging tangible over them. There was none of the earlier anger, but this was almost worse. Harry drawn into himself reminded Sirius too much of his younger self after a scathing harangue from his mother—or in the face of his father's stark disinterest.

His means of survival as a child.

He didn't want that for Harry.

"Did anyone bother you about not finishing the task?" he asked, in his best nonchalant manner.

Harry shrugged. "Malfoy; on the way back to Dumbledore's office."

"Is that why you were late?"

Harry shook his head, not looking up as he answered, "He shut up when Ron told him I was still competing."

Sirius thumbed through the first pages of the book in front of him as he said, "Did you speak to Dumbledore about that? He hasn't told me yet the outcome of his meeting with Crouch."

"Dumbledore wasn't in his office. McGonagall said he was still with Crouch." Harry tilted his head. "Do you think he'll convince Crouch I shouldn't be allowed to compete?"

Sirius held his place in the book with a finger pressed to its pages. "I would prefer as much, yes. But I have no idea how much say Dumbledore has in this—it would appear as though he doesn't have much considering you've been competing."

Harry was frowning and Sirius asked with some concern, "I thought you weren't keen on continuing on?"

"I'm not," Harry said quietly.

"Then what's the matter?"

Harry's attention went back to the tattered book on the top of the stack. "Nothing," he said with a heavy sigh. "I'm just tired of it, you know?"

"Of the tournament?"

Harry shrugged as he flipped the book open. "Just everything."

"Well," Sirius said, suddenly with a scratchy throat, "we'll do our best to keep you out of the third task. It was already suspect but now that Crouch is making allowances for you—"

"People are always making allowances," Harry said resignedly. "Except Snape who's a git and does the opposite and hates me for being the Boy Who Lived; although I think he hates me more because he hated my dad…" Harry's cheeks immediately flushed and he ducked his head. "Er, I mean…"

"It's all right, Harry," Sirius said quietly. "I know what you mean." He tried a smile but Harry wasn't looking at him. "If it helps, Snape doesn't like me either."

Harry slid his eyes to Sirius, but his expression was wary and confused all at once.

"Look Harry," Sirius murmured, "I don't want to act as though we never saw your name on that tapestry—"

"It's not that," Harry interrupted, his voice thicker than it had been a moment ago.

Sirius slid his hands into his pockets, prodding gently when Harry didn't continue, "What is it then?"

Harry's shoulders rose and fell as he shook his head. "Dunno," he said, his hands moving restlessly so that the pages crinkled under his fingers. "Sorry," he muttered; entirely unnecessary. Sirius clamped his lips on his sigh while Harry smoothed the wrinkles. Willing to drop the subject temporarily, he stepped toward his son to peer over his shoulder.

"What have you got there?" he asked, moving a hand automatically to Harry's back.

Harry's eyes darted up, his tensed shoulders relaxing in an unexpected juxtaposition. "Not sure," he said, gesturing to the ink spattered in an undignified pattern on the first page. "The writing is hard to read…"

Sirius squinted. "That's because it isn't modern English."

"It's not?" Harry asked, leaning forward to study the indecipherable script along with him.

"Not unless the person who wrote it was exceptionally daft…"

Harry smiled at that. "It's really old then?" he asked. "But it isn't a book—"

They shared a glance.

"Diary," they said together, their voice melding as one. But as soon as he said it, Harry made a face.

"This one isn't possessed by Voldemort," Sirius assured him without humor.

Harry nodded, the distaste still lingering as he fingered the edge of the faded cover. "Do you think it was Rigel's?"

"It is very well preserved if it is, but then magic will do that for you…" Sirius turned the page carefully. "It appeared when you summoned it so Rigel must be in here somewhere. Here," he said, running a finger along the words while Harry crowded close, "it says _this day_ … _today_ and _master_ there, I think, but…"

He had to pause as a wave of disorientation made the words swim. He shook his head to clear it. Beside him, Harry cried out and then without warning, the room began to spin. Clumsily, Sirius reached out, his fingers grasping Harry's sleeve as the room turned upside down—or inside out, and then just as quickly as the chaos had begun, the world stood still again.

"What…" Without meaning to, Sirius' fingers tightened their hold on Harry's sleeve as he gaped at the scene. At the people all around them.

Dozens… hundreds of men and woman bustled around them while Harry and Sirius stood stupidly in the middle of the parting bodies.

"Where are we?" Harry whispered, dazed and urgent.

Sirius shook his head, pulling him close as someone nearly knocked Harry over in her haste to get by. The woman, with cleavage spilling over her corset, waved her hand, calling an apology as she disappeared into the crowd.

"Standing in the middle of the street," a grizzled man groused as he elbowed past, leading a plodding horse along behind him.

"Make way!" a voice rang out and the ordered confusion became a mass of running feet as the ragged people scrambled in every direction; Sirius and Harry were pushed along with them. "His majesty! Make way!" And Sirius could see that the people were simply moving away from the massive wall behind them.

A gate.

Harry said something, but his voice was hoarse and distant now amongst the pounding hoofs beating closer. Sirius gripped his arm, his disorientation more jarring now as he watched the impossible scene. A troop of horses had no business in the space where a library had just been.

But there they were, no matter that it wasn't possible. Cantering through the now-empty space, unsettling the dusting of snow beneath their hooves. Horses adorned with blue and gold and their riders, dressed in armor.

The empty space closed behind them, the people resettling into their patterns as the heavy gates clanged behind the last horse.


	10. Amidst the Ordered Chaos

Sirius and Harry were chivvied along with the wave of people. No matter how hard Sirius pushed against the tide, he couldn't resist. He turned his fingers into a vice around Harry's wrist but there was no protest. Harry stayed close to him until a break finally formed in the crowd and they found the protection of an empty cart—a manure cart, by the smell of it.

Harry wrinkled his nose but otherwise his attention was riveted on the lead horse and his rider. The tall man swung off the steed's back with the grace only afforded to those of great power. A bearded man took the reins with a deep bow. "Majesty…"

Majesty?

The one given the royal title patted his horse's steaming neck before turning to another man in deep blue robes. Hair as white and long as Dumbledore's—and he had a beard to match. He gave his reins to a willowy man with tangled black hair and spectacles that slipped twice down his nose as he fumbled with the leather straps.

The one called Majesty and the one with the snowy beard fell in step together, their heads bent close. They were followed by an immediate queue as they pivoted and walked on toward the castle. The dark-haired man watched them, a small frown on his face. The horse in his care snorted and the man sighed before urging the animal forward.

A small boy bumped his arm as he scurried past. The man's frown deepened, then immediately lightened with amusement as he waved a hand. The boy yelped as he clutched at his backside. He looked around wildly, but found no culprit.

The man's smile was cruel when he turned away.

Sirius and Harry watched him swagger, neither one speaking. Sirius, because he didn't want to say what he was thinking. Because they couldn't be where they were. And that couldn't be Rigel Black, because that white-haired man couldn't have been Merlin.

And the lead rider certainly could not have been King Arthur.

It was utter fantasy.

But before any of that could settle in, the man who was so obviously their ancestor disappeared. Dizziness assaulted Sirius again, and he was no more prepared for it this time. He managed a handful of Harry's shirt and then they were spinning.

Darkness caved in and when Sirius could see again, he was blinking into Remus' eyes; and he flat on his back.

"Thank Merlin," his old friend muttered. "What happened?"

But instead of answering, Sirius flailed in his attempt to sit up. Remus grabbed a hand and an elbow. "Harry?" Sirius' panicked query immediately morphed into a croak. But Harry was sitting up as well, his eyes round and dazed. Dumbledore was kneeling beside him.

"Are you all right?" Sirius asked.

"I think so."

"What happened?" Remus repeated. "We came in and found you on the floor."

Sirius shared a glance with Harry. "I'm not certain."

Dumbledore held up Rigel's diary between pinched fingers. "A family heirloom, I presume?"

"Yes, Rigel's," Sirius told him as he allowed Remus to help him stand. Dumbledore gripped Harry's elbow and did the same.

"At least I think it was Rigel's," Sirius said. "We were reading it and we had… some sort of psychotic episode, don't know how else to describe it. The Blacks are famous for them." He met Harry's worried gaze and grimaced. "Bit of a joke."

"An episode?" Dumbledore echoed.

Smoothing the creases from the front of his shirt, Sirius cleared his throat. "It was different from a Pensieve memory; felt less like a dream than diving into a Pensieve always does. The people seemed to know we were there. Somewhat."

"And what did you see?"

Sirius hooked his hands under his armpits, and forced himself not to worry how this was going to sound outside his head.

"I think we saw Rigel," Harry spoke before he could. "He was with a man who looked like Merlin. At least pictures I've seen of Merlin, with a long white beard." Harry tilted his head as he studied Dumbledore. "He looked like you actually…"

Harry's cheeks dusted pink when the headmaster smiled. "Did he?"

"One of the men was clearly King Arthur," Sirius cut in before Dumbledore could go on. "We sound completely mental…"

"On the contrary," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "This book is radiating dark magic. I cannot tell, of course, if it has been intentionally cursed—"

"Just like Riddle's diary," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore peered at him over his spectacles. "How do you mean?"

But Harry shook his head. His glance darted to Sirius, but Sirius simply smiled at him and said to the headmaster, "We couldn't have been where ever we were—inside the diary for more than a few moments."

"We've only been here for five," Remus murmured. "You were both lying on the floor, breathing like you were asleep but we couldn't rouse you."

"Not even with one of my best spells," Dumbledore agreed. "I believe this merits further exploration, Sirius." He jiggled the diary. "If I may?"

Wide-eyed, Harry demanded, "You want to go inside it?"

"I am curious. And," Dumbledore added with a small frown, "it may answer some of our questions about Rigel's magic."

"Or you might be trapped inside his words indefinitely," Sirius said.

Dumbledore smiled. "There are worse fates."

"You're welcome to it," Sirius said after the headmaster jiggled the diary again. Harry was gazing at Dumbledore as if had gone mad, but since it wasn't the strangest proposal Sirius had ever heard from the old wizard, he wasn't going to quibble. There were more important things to discuss. "Did you speak with Crouch?"

"I did," Dumbledore sighed. "And I am afraid he is adamant that Harry continue to compete, since he believes the popularity of the contest is increased with Harry as one of the champions."

"But Harry didn't complete the second task."

"He is willing to bend the rules," Dumbledore said dryly.

Sirius glanced at Harry, who sighed.

"Fortunately," Dumbledore said with sympathy, "only the third task remains."

"Which promises to be the most dangerous of all, I assume?"

"I'm afraid so. We will be certain Harry is prepared for it."

"Do I actually have a choice?" Harry asked.

"No more than you did at the beginning. It is a magical binding contract, beholden to the rules Crouch sets."

Frowning, Harry dropped onto one of the beds, still there since Christmas. "Maybe Crouch is the one who put my name in the Cup. Since I make the competition so exciting and all."

"I did consider that," the headmaster told him, ignoring the slight curl of Harry's lip. "Unfortunately, there is no way to prove it."

Harry bent over this lap and let his chin rest in his hands. "Magic is pretty useless sometimes, isn't it?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Rather too often. Now then," he said, including Remus in his gaze, "we will leave you to your evening. Though I was curious to see your father's Pensieve, Sirius. We may find some use in it, after all."

Sirius shook his head immediately. "I don't think—"

"Maybe it would let me see the memories, since the magic was meant for me," Harry interrupted. He had straightened from his slouch.

"No," Sirius said, and then grimaced when the word emerged too panicked. "I mean to say…" He cleared his throat. "I don't think the memories are recoverable."

"But—"

"My father was very talented—magically." Sirius' smile was too strained, but he hoped Harry wouldn't notice. He added in a lighter tone, "And he put protections around his office before he died. I can't think it wise to venture in again."

Harry sighed. "What do we do, then?" he finally asked. "About the magic, I mean?"

"Rigel's diary, to begin," Dumbledore answered. "As to the rest, that is Sirius' decision."

With Harry waiting expectantly, Sirius wished he had something better to offer than a bitter, hateful grandfather. "Just now," he sighed, "I think these books are our only option. Although, we'll stay away from anything that looks like a diary, I think."

Harry smiled at that. Relieved, Sirius said, "I'll show the Headmaster and Remus out. Don't start without me." He picked up one of the books he had loved as a kid and tossed it over. "That one should be safe," he said, winking.

Smiling still, Harry settled against the headboard and cracked the cover. Sirius watched him for a moment, smiling at the way his eyebrows knitted as he studied the first pages, before following after Remus and Dumbledore.

"Is there any way to circumvent the Cup's magic?" Sirius asked Dumbledore as they navigated the labyrinth to the kitchen.

"I have spent a good many hours considering it," Dumbledore said with regret. "I know of no way. When his name was placed in the cup, it represented a binding contract."

"Even though it's a forgery?"

Dumbledore glanced back at him, eyebrows high.

"Harry didn't put his name in," Sirius reminded him.

"No," Dumbledore agreed, "but the slip was written by Harry himself—"

"It was?" Remus' turn for surprise. "But I thought Harry hadn't—"

"He didn't," Sirius interrupted with a frown. "He promised me months ago he didn't put his name in."

Dumbledore smiled slightly, but Sirius felt no chagrin for his defensive tone. "Whoever put his name in took great pains to make certain the magic would be binding. It would have been easy, I suppose, to steal a bit of parchment with his name on it."

"From any one of his assignments," Remus murmured thoughtfully.

Finding this considerably less fascinating, Sirius silenced his friend with a frown. "And what exactly will happen," he asked of the headmaster, "if Harry doesn't participate?"

"I do not believe the magic will allow him the choice." He dipped his chin at the deeper frown his words elicited. "If you attempt to keep him away, it is likely he would be brought to the third task forcibly."

Sirius absorbed that. "That is only an assumption though?"

"The tournament has never had a reluctant champion."

"It isn't about his reluctance," Sirius said as they took the short flight of stairs into the kitchen. "It doesn't feel right; it hasn't since this began."

"I know," Dumbledore said quietly. Sweeping his broadly-striped, peach robes aside as he stepped into the Floo, he added, "We will do what we can to prepare him for the task. He has you to help him now."

"And anything I can do," Remus said.

Sirius included both of them in his small smile. "Thank you."

Dumbledore accepted a pinch of glittery powder. "I am very pleased you have mended things between you." He called for his office and was gone in a tower of flames.

Exhaling, Sirius perched on the table as the fire died away.

"The third task is months away," Remus said.

Sirius glanced at him. "It isn't that. Half that," he amended. "I feel like I've betrayed the Potters."

Remus cocked his head.

Sirius half-smiled, knowing full well he sounded mad. But this was Remus so he said, "I stole their grandson."

Remus' answering smile made Sirius chuckle despite himself. "Only you would worry about that," Remus said.

Sirius sighed. "Silly, I know."

"It doesn't change anything, Padfoot."

Unable to speak, Sirius nodded.

"Lily was right to obliviate you."

Sirius' head jerked up, but after a moment of surprised silence, he muttered, "I know."

Smiling a little, Remus gripped his shoulder. "Stop brooding," he said quietly, gesturing with his head toward the door, "And go enjoy your son."

Slowly, Sirius smiled. Pushing himself up, he punched his friend lightly on the arm. "Thanks," he said again. Feeling lighter as Remus was whisked away, Sirius whistled an obscure tune he couldn't remember hearing as he jogged up the stairs.

He grabbed the frame of the door once he wound his way to the library and stuck his head in. "What do you say…" He trailed off as he realized Harry wasn't where he'd been left; the room was empty. "Harry?

Pivoting, he turned the three corners to the parlour, but found nothing but the wilting Christmas tree. The dining room was just as bereft, the site of the elf heads and his family crest as unwelcoming as ever.

The tapestry room was empty as well.

Harry had no reason to run off, but the pace of Sirius' heart didn't seem to care. Calling Harry's name sharply, he traversed the familiar corridors quickly and took the stairs two at a time. Past his mother's curtained portrait and the empty rooms he and Regulus had once inhabited.

On up the second flight of stairs.

"Harry!" But as the name passed his lips, he heard a voice that left his feet flat. But only for a second. He sprinted past his parents' mouldered bedroom.

"How dare you enter my sanctuary," his father's voice demanded. "Isn't it enough that you've sullied our blood? You and that Mudblood bitch—"

"That's enough," Sirius breathed as he came to an abrupt halt just inside his father's office. He had no idea of Harry's reaction; he stepped in front of him and said furiously, "Don't speak to him."

"I will speak to anyone I please," his father snapped. "And how I please. He deserves no less, the little bas—"

"Shut up!" Sirius barked, the words surprising him almost as much as much as it did his painted father. "Just shut up! He hasn't done anything to you!"

"How dare you!" Orion sputtered. "If I could move from this wretched frame, I would thrash your worthless hide! Get out of my office!"

"My pleasure," Sirius said through his teeth. But before he could move, one of the decanters along the wall exploded. Sucking in a breath, Sirius snatched Harry's wrist, shielding him from the fury and moving them toward the door in the same movement.

Orion continued to rage, his voice louder than the shattering glass. Sirius ducked to avoid a paperweight, but even so the corner caught his arm. Gritting his teeth, he pushed Harry over the threshold, making it into the corridor himself just before the door slammed.

The pops of destroyed glass reverberated through the air.

With his chest heaving, Sirius' fingers tightened around Harry's wrist. Raggedly, he asked, "… all right?"

Harry nodded; his cheeks were flushed, eyes bright.

Hoping it might slow the gulps of air, Sirius released him and gripped a fistful of his own shirt. He couldn't find enough breath to give voice to his emotions though, so he nodded and allowed his wobbling knees to unlock. He slid down the wall until his rump hit the hard floor. Harry came with him, as if drawn by a magnet and they sat there, staring at one another, the silence entirely too loud.

And finally, Sirius said through tattered breaths, "I told you not to go in there."

"I just thought I could try to—"

"I already tried. And failed brilliantly." And though it hardly needed to be said, Sirius went on before Harry could interrupt, "My father was a miserable man. Which is why I told you not to go in there."

Harry turned his gaze down the corridor before mumbling, "You didn't exactly say that."

Sirius stared at Harry's profile. "You knew I didn't want you to."

Harry found his gaze; chagrin dusted his cheeks. "But—"

"It isn't a debate, Harry," Sirius cut him off, his voice coming out too loud in the shadowed corridor. "Don't go in there again. Is that clear enough?"

Harry looked away again; his nod came in tiny jerks.

Sirius gazed at him, but Harry didn't turn his head. Ignoring the emotions still churning his stomach, Sirius slid across the dirty floor to close the space between, but even that didn't help. "Hey," he said softly. He tapped Harry's cheek lightly with the back of his fingers and was rewarded with bright green eyes. Finding a smile amongst the muck, Sirius said, "I don't want you to be hurt."

Harry swallowed. "I know," he matched Sirius' tone before winding his arms around his knees. He returned his attention to the darkness.

Sirius held back a sigh and used the wall for a pillow, his eyes on the cracks in the ceiling. Like dozens of tiny spiders crawling across its surface. Bloody, stupid house with its spider ceilings and vicious, taunting fathers.

"It nicked your cheek," Harry's voice startled him from his resentment. He lowered his chin. Harry was frowning.

"Sorry?"

"Your cheek," Harry repeated, gesturing. "When the glass exploded."

Sirius' fingers wandered along his cheekbone, wincing eventually, but coming away without blood. "Only a small one," he said for the worry in Harry's expression. "Didn't even feel it."

Hugging his legs closer, Harry pressed his forehead into his knees. With his fingertips, Sirius dented the spot where the paperweight had clipped him—into the bruise he would most likely have by morning and waited.

"I didn't know he would do that," Harry eventually mumbled. "I just wanted…"

"What?" Sirius asked gently, mimicking Harry's posture. "What did you want?"

Harry slid his eyes over.

Sirius watched his face as it shifted through emotions and finally said, very quietly, "You can still trust me, mate. Nothing's changed."

Harry's breath stuttered. " _Everything_ is different now," he scraped over the words. "The magic… and… everything." He shook his head and lapsed into silence.

Sirius put a hand on his neck and Harry came willingly under the umbrella of his arm. "Not everything," he murmured as he tucked his son's dark head under his chin. "I'm still me, even if the title's changed."

And when Harry didn't say anything, he asked, "What's worrying you, love? Whatever it is, we'll sort it out."

"It isn't…" Harry's fists balled in his lap.

"Is it the magic?"

But Harry shook his head.

"My father?" Sirius ventured, wishing the question was unnecessary.

Harry ran a tidy thumbnail along the seam of his trousers, finally sighing when the seam ended. "He was awful to you."

Smiling despite himself, Sirius chafed Harry's arm. "Don't worry about me. I'm used to him. And he's only a bit of paint."

Harry squinted up at him. "But he was really like that."

The heavy observation tightened Sirius' chest. "Yes. Not always," he admitted, though the honesty was sour. "He was worse as I got older, after I was sorted into Gryffindor." He grimaced. "I know it can't be pleasant to find out you're related to him."

"It's all right," Harry said, to his knees again. "I just thought…"

Harry's small voice was a beacon in the muddle. "Is that why you came up here? You wanted to meet him?"

Harry's spectacles flashed in the dull light from the sconce above them when he brought his head up. "No… I mean… but I thought I could help," he added hastily, cheeks rosy again. "I dunno," he muttered.

"You were curious," Sirius interpreted. "Perfectly understandable."

Harry's uncertainty was as loud as his silence.

Sirius smiled. "If I found out I had relatives I had never heard of, I would want to meet them."

Harry nodded, but he didn't look particularly reassured.

"Would you care to visit the other portraits upstairs? The Hall of Portraits," Sirius explained. "The one Phineas Nigellus mentioned?"

When Harry didn't answer, Sirius said, "I'd very much like you to meet my uncle Alphard—he was always kind to me."

"Yeah?"

With Harry squinting behind those glasses, Sirius couldn't help but let the pressure in his chest squeeze tight; couldn't have stopped the sigh either. "You look so like James… did you know that he and I are cousins? First cousins, once removed. Mrs. Potter was my mother's aunt... what's the matter?"

Harry's smile had disappeared. The tentative progress wilted along with it. He pulled away, crossed his arms over his chest and went back to his study of the gloomy corners.

"Harry?" Feeling helpless, Sirius murmured, "I didn't mean to upset you."

Harry's gaze flicked to him and away. He set his lips, so the words came out muffled, "I was looking at that picture of him—he was dancing with Mum."

Wishing he hadn't mentioned James, Sirius gave a soft apology. Harry's head jerked round. "Why are you sorry?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Sirius opened his mouth, but then realized he wasn't certain.

"How can I look like him?" Bitterness tinged the edges of Harry's question. "He's not my dad."

Sirius pushed past the sudden burn in his throat. "It isn't unusual for people to have features similar to their relatives," he said, not quite evenly. "I look like my mother's brother—not Alphard. My cousin Tonks could have been my grandmother's twin. And James and I were often mistaken for brothers."

"Oh." Harry's voice came out small; lost. Hunching his shoulders up, he mumbled, "Sorry."

Sirius' eyebrows swept up. "Whatever for?"

"I know you don't want to talk about him—"

"James?" Sirius asked in surprise.

"And I know it doesn't matter," Harry went on as if Sirius hadn't interrupted him. His breath hitched. "Because he's dead."

"Harry…" Sirius brought in a deep breath, steadying all the confliction in his chest. "Of course he matters. Very much. He loved you dearly."

"But he isn't—"

Sirius folded the smaller hand in his. "I told you at the Weasleys that my loving you has nothing to do with blood, do you remember?"

A nod.

"The same is true of James. It doesn't matter that he isn't your father biologically. He was your dad, every day of your life; even in death. He died trying to save you, Harry, because he loved you."

Harry blinked damp eyelashes.

"And do you know what else?" Sirius asked softly. "You are allowed to love him. I do."

Harry stared at him, only his throat moving as he swallowed. And finally, finally he nodded. The first real break in the clouds and Sirius nearly breathed in relief; managed to turn the immensity of the feeling into a simple smile. "Shall we go upstairs, then?"

Harry nodded, so Sirius pushed himself off the dusty floorboards. "You'll like Alphard. Best of the lot." Harry took his offered hand and allowed Sirius to hoist him up. With the top of Harry's head coming only to the middle of Sirius' chest, Sirius couldn't help the smile. Harry was here, squinting up at him so Sirius hugged him, letting the breath out in a gust as his son hugged him back.

He had been content to let the Black line die with him. He was immeasurably grateful the choice hadn't been left to him.

He squeezed Harry's neck before letting him step back. Harry ducked his head, but couldn't hide his smile. "Two flights up," Sirius said, smiling as well. "And fair warning," he said as they began the long trek, "most of these bits of paint don't care for me. Though, they didn't much care for Regulus when we were younger, either."

"Why not?"

"Sticky fingers."

Harry grinned at that.

They both sobered though as they climbed the last set of stairs. Harry had acquired a temporary wrinkle between his eyebrows. "I don't think any of them will be as foul to you as my father—Phineas Nigellus was about the worst of it."

"But what about you?"

"I have a thick skin."

Harry slanted him a glance, but didn't disagree.

The top floor was considerably gloomier than the rest of the house—darker and shrouded in dust. Their steps left prints on the floor. "Lumos Maximus."

Harry blinked in the sudden bright. Made a face at the peeling wallpaper. "How can Kreacher stand to live here?"

"Fair question," Sirius murmured as he swept a corridor-stretching cobweb. "Mind your feet." He shifted to let Harry pass first round an uprooted floorboard. "Here we are."

The forehead wrinkle returned as they met the closed door at the end of the landing. "What is that?" Harry asked.

"That," Sirius echoed, aiming his wand, "is the Black family crest."

Harry studied the dull metal. Took in the winged serpent in flight as it captured the jagged lightning bolt in its teeth; swallowing it whole.

Harry pointed to the words beneath the once-majestic creature. "What does that mean?"

"It's Latin… The serpent will devour the lightning…" Tracing his finger along the words, Sirius narrowed his eyes. Frowned as they became part of a whole… "His letter…"

"What?"

Sirius glanced down at Harry; tapped his finger against the crest. "My brother's letter to me—the one about the curse and Rigel's magic—he wrote this at the end."

"What does it mean?"

"The serpent represents the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Rare, beautiful and noble." Sirius pressed his fingers over his lips, stilling the automatic recitation as he found Harry's quizzical gaze. It was difficult to veer away to a summary. But he wasn't a child, and his mother wasn't here.

"Rigel again," he explained. "According to my family's legend, he could transform into a magnificent winged serpent, just like that one. There was a devastating storm; lasted for days." _The earth trembled, the skies opened and only Rigel remained as the peasants cowered under their beds._

Ignoring the dutiful echo of his younger self, Sirius said out loud,"Merlin was very ill—hours from death—and he charged Rigel with saving the kingdom. He transformed." _Flew through the raging blackness, great wings beating back the thunder._

"He swallowed the lightning whole," Sirius said, "absorbing it. And instead of killing him, the lightning gave him strength, made him more powerful." _He swept the rain from the clouds, returning sunlight to the land._

"And after that," Sirius added with a wry smile, "Merlin gifted his power to Rigel."

"It's a good story though," Harry said. "Ron said his mum used to read stories about Rigel."

"He is a rather popular character. We have all of those stories in the library," Sirius added. "Probably all the ones Molly read to Ron."

"Yeah?"

And though such enthusiasm for the Black ancestors was foreign, Sirius said, "Take them with you to Hogwarts if you like."

Harry smiled. "Thanks."

"Pleasure." With a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, he asked, "Ready?"

Another sideways glance and a nod.

The metal complained as the handle was turned. Shadow bled into black. The hum of dozens of voices immediately ceased.

"Who's there? Speak up!"

Harry started, knocking into Sirius as the voice echoed from the blackness; even his wand couldn't illuminate the length.

"That is my grandmother, Melania," Sirius said, his steadying reach toward Harry halted. Harry had already gripped the edge of his sleeve.

"She doesn't sound happy," he whispered.

"Never was," Sirius whispered back.

"Speak up!" Melania demanded, hysterical as ever. "Who is it?"

"I say," a hearty voice interrupted; one that made Sirius smile even after all these years. "Is the shouting necessary, my girl? No one visits but the elf."

"Honestly, Alphard, have you no sense of decorum?" Another, higher-pitched voice scolded. Callidora, one of his more tolerable aunts.

"Yes, do shut up, won't you, Alphard?" A fourth joined in. "We've heard quite enough from you recently."

The light was swimming closer; the voices drawing louder.

"Not nearly," Alphard said easily. "One would think you should like to hear news of your namesake."

"He is nothing of mine," the other voice sniffed. "I told Walburga not to name him after me."

"You were named after him?" Harry demanded; the curl of his lip was clear in the murk. "What a git."

Smothering his laugh, Sirius put a finger to his lips. "Shhh."

"At last, something we can agree with," Alphard drawled. "You do not deserve the honor."

Harry's sudden grin tightened Sirius' throat.

"Who's that?" Harry whispered.

"Uncle Alphard…"

"I like him."

"How dare you—"

"Be quiet, both of you!" Phineas Nigellus. "Kreacher, is that you? Show yourself!"

Harry glanced at Sirius. With nothing but a deep breath to prepare him, Sirius found a grim smile and the two of them stepped past the last faded corner.

"Merlin's ghost!"

"What? Who is it?"

"It can't be!"

"Of course it is! Who else would it be?"

Odd that paint could rustle. The usually decorous collection of portraits scrambled from their frames to crowd the six closest to the door.

"That is my foot, you imbecile!"

"Do please move, Belvina."

"He's the image of Rigel!"

"Heresy!"

"Sirius Black," Alphard's deep voice resonated over the rest. Just as Sirius remembered him, he stepped to the front of the packed frame. With the untrimmed hair his mother never approved of, the mustache Sirius had once tried to imitate. The bright yellow robes and Muggle trousers entirely out of place in this room.

"Sirius," Alphard repeated, the smile thrumming through the words. "It is lovely to see you again."

Sirius smiled. "Hello, Uncle Alphard."

"I was so sorry to hear about Azkaban. But you look fit. How are you?"

"Much better without the stench of prison round my neck."

Alphard's grin was interrupted by the elder Sirius. "A fugitive," he sniffed. "Really, Sirius, must you shame us completely? You could not leave that to one of those disgusting Mudblood families?"

Harry stiffened. Sirius closed his fingers around his son's wrist.

"Hush, you old fool," Alphard interrupted. "Who is this, then?" he said, eyes going to Harry. "You must be Harry."

"You are certainly a handsome young man," Callidora said, looking around at the others with her wide grey eyes. "Isn't he?"

"What has that to do with anything?" Melania demanded. Her elaborate silver coif quivered. "His blood is not pure—and he is a traitor just like his father."

"Nonsense." Uncle Cygnus, with his ridiculous monocle. "A traitor to what?"

"He should have followed in Bella's footsteps," Melania snapped. "She was such a pleasant girl."

Uncle Cygnus snorted. "Allegiance to that fool? The idea is preposterous. Now Gellert Grindelwald… _he_ was a wizard with vision."

Harry's eyes were darting between the bickering relatives.

"Still doesn't speak, I see?" Phineas said. "Did I not tell you he was without manners?"

"Sorry," Harry tripped over the word before Sirius could interject. He glanced back at Sirius, clearly unsure of the proper way to greet a group of ancestral oils.

"This is Harry Potter," Sirius said; sighed when the group gasped as a whole. "My son."

"Well, this won't do," Callidora said. She wrung her hands. "Our great line cannot end with a boy named Potter."

"Unacceptable," Cygnus agreed.

"Better to let it die out altogether," Melania said.

"Now see here," Sirius said sharply. "We did not come up here to listen to yiour insults. And unless any of you dream of decorating Gryffindor's dorm rooms, I suggest you keep them to yourselves."

Shocked eyebrows swept up.

"I never…"

"He wouldn't dare…"

"He would. This is Walburga's child. He was the one who burned off Pollux's nose, remember?"

"Let us not forget that." Pollux touched the charred hole where his very long nose used to be.

Harry gaped at Sirius.

"I was five," Sirius muttered. And the palm of his wand hand had taken the brunt of his father's displeasure.

"Why did you come up here, Sirius?" Phineas interrupted.

"Harry wanted to meet you."

The irony brought silence.

"Well then?" Cygnus finally demanded. "Come here, young man, and present yourself."

Harry glanced up at Sirius. With a light grip to his shoulders, Sirius tugged him back a bit. "Harry Potter," he repeated. "As I've said."

"You are surely old enough to speak for yourself."

Not quite acerbic enough for Gryffindor tower, so Sirius let it pass.

Harry shifted anyway. "Erm… hullo."

Their ancestors eyed one another, eyed Harry in turns.

Only Alphard introduced himself. "We have wanted to meet you for many years," he said.

"Some of us," someone in the back grumbled.

"All of us," Alphard corrected. "They just have too much pride to admit it."

"Black family trait," Sirius murmured.

"And yet, you claim the name," Cygnus said.

Perhaps this hadn't been the best idea…

"Quiet," Phineas ordered.

"Do not presume to—"

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Sirius' grandfathers turned in surprise; Harry as well. Sirius let his eyebrows tilt their apology to him before saying to the portraits, "You've been at this for a hundred years. Neither of you is ever going to win."

"Still so impertinent," Pollux observed. "Though he has a point."

"Enough of this." Phineas waved his hand, decisive to cover his discomfiture. "As long as you are here, Sirius, we must discuss what to do about the situation we find ourselves in—"

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "What situation?"

"Rigel's magic, of course. Harry has no right to possess it—"

"Sorry?" Sirius asked, his voice low as he stepped toward the canvas. Phineas peered down his nose, but Sirius matched him glare for glare. "If you are even suggesting an attempt be made to strip him of it—any attempt at all, so help me I will burn this house to the ground."

The air was thin, vibrating. Or maybe it was only Sirius' hands as they strove to stay away from the frame.

"He is sadistic enough to do it," Pollux warned.

"No one is going to harm that child," Alphard said quietly. Sirius stopped glaring at Phineas when Harry shifted back, coming to stand next to him. He imagined his smile was of little use.

"Do not be absurd," Cygnus found his voice. "Why would we wish to harm him? He has power to rival Grindelwald. And he is heir to our line."

"His mother is a Mudblood," Melania reminded him; reminded all of them. "And you may burn my canvas through, Sirius Orion, but I will not pretend he is not a blight."

"He is not even the first halfblood—"

"But our heir! To the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Walburga would not have stood for this!"

"She is even madder than you!"

Having heard enough, Sirius took Harry's hand. Worrying his lip, Harry heeded the tug. He glanced over his shoulder though, as did Sirius. Sirius gave a bare smile to Alphard. Alphard, a sad smile on his lips, raised his hand in farewell.

"Where are you going?"

"Come back here, Sirius!"

"We have not finished."

"Did you honestly expect him to stand here calmly while you insulted his son?"

"I expect him to be a proper Black—"

"Let us at least see his scar! Let us judge for ourselves."

Sirius halted. His hand still gripping Harry's, he turned slowly. Lucretia Black, his father's only sister. She had lost the challenging stare, though she looked the same otherwise. Square chin and overgrown eyebrows. "Why do you want to see his scar?" he asked very quietly.

"Rigel's legacy, of course. We have a right to know if the legend is true."

The other portraits had stilled.

"What has Rigel's magic to do with Harry's scar?"

"Has he a scar, then?" Cygnus demanded.

"Step closer," the elder Sirius ordered, "and allow us to look at you."

Sirius turned his back on them, finding Harry's startled eyes.

"How did they know I have a scar?"

"Kreacher must have told them… or Phineas." Sirius' mind wasn't on the words though; with his thumb, he shifted the fringe away from the scar—the scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Same shape, same bolt of lightning.

"And the serpent shall devour the lightning…" The words came unbidden. Letting his breath out bit by bit, Sirius focused on Harry's bright green eyes.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely nothing," Sirius said through his smile. "It was Rigel's magic that saved you that night. Your scar… it is the same bolt of lightning as in our crest."

Harry's finger traced the pink scar several times. "What does that mean?" he finally asked.

Sirius shook his head, the smile slipping away. He turned back to the portraits, asked of Alphard, "Where is Regulus' portrait? Is he here?"

"I am afraid not. Your father banned him from this place."

"In the house somewhere?"

"I don't know," Alphard answered with regret. "Perhaps you might ask the elf."

"Kreacher will not help him," Cygnus said without malice.

"But we need to know about Rigel's magic," Harry spoke up, earning himself a considering look from most of the ancient Blacks. "Wasn't Kreacher with him before he died?"

"Yes," Sirius asnwered. "But Cygnus is right—"

"Do not be impertinent."

"My grandfather is right," Sirius sighed. "Kreacher doesn't like me. Even more after he found out I didn't open Reg's letter."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" Harry asked eagerly. "If we tell him you want to find out what was in the memories, maybe he'll help."

"At least he is not lacking in intelligence," Phineas said.

They both ignored him.

"Don't you think he'll help?" Harry asked again.

Sirius pursed his lips, studying the cloudless face. As his thumb soothed the angry scar, he sighed. "I don't know, but we will ask."

\--

"Can you really do that?" Harry asked as they went downstairs. "Take Rigel's magic away from me?"

Sirius, who hadn't been able to stop glancing at Harry, nodded. "Someone could steal it from you, yes."

"But what do they want to do with it?"

"I don't know."

Harry's furrowed brow met the quiet answer.

"I won't let anyone do that," Sirius assured him. Harry glanced at him; smiled.

"I know.

Sirius tried not to watch him as they took the next set of stairs; tried to quiet his thoughts—thoughts about scars of lightning, not serpents. The magic hadn't been activated when Voldemort had tried to kill Harry. So, how had it protected him?

_The serpent shall devour the lightning. And you shall harness its power._

Clearly the scar was an expression of that power. But how had Harry killed Voldemort? Unless the magic was already…

"Do you think he's in the kitchen?"

"Probably," Sirius answered as he pulled himself from his thoughts. He smiled at his son, mussed the dark hair for good measure and led the way into the kitchen. "Kreacher?" Louder when there was no response.

"Master summoned Kreacher?"

Harry and Sirius turned to see the little elf shuffling down the steps.

Willing his voice not to betray the years of hatred for his mother's elf, Sirius said, "Yes. I should like to speak with you about Regulus."

Kreacher's wasted frame trembled. "Master Regulus was a brave wizard."

"I know," Sirius agreed, though it came rough to his tongue. "You gave me a letter—"

Kreacher's head wagged back and forth, the way it always had when his mistress had been most displeased with him. "Master Black betrayed Master Regulus… Master Regulus trusted Kreacher." His wet eyes were too large.

But Sirius refused to feel pity for him; there had been too many insults—too many hexes. "What did he trust you with? Delivering the letter to me?"

"No, no, no! Kreacher delivered the letter! Kreacher did as Master told him. Master Black betrayed Master. Kreacher obeyed, Kreacher obeyed!"

"All right," Sirius said, cutting him off with a sharp gesture. "How did I betray him? I read his letter."

Kreacher squeezed his head between bony hands, shaking it furiously now. "Master Black was meant to read the letter! Kreacher obeyed!"

"But Sirius did read it," Harry tried to say, but Sirius shook his head and Harry fell silent again.

Realizing he was not going to make it past whatever was agitating the elf, Sirius dropped to one knee. Kreacher reared back, cowering as if preparing to be struck. Sirius stared at him, and then nearly laughed. How many times had this wretched little creature followed his mother's orders to punish him? How many times had glee shone from his eyes as he had obliged?

Sirius could feel Harry's gaze though, bewildered and apprehensive all at once. "I am not going to hurt you," Sirius told the elf, though he couldn't quite deny he might have liked to. "I simply need to know why you think I betrayed Regulus. There was nothing in the letter that said as much."

"No, no, no." Quieter agitation this time; wringing hands. "Master Black was meant to read the letter when Kreacher brought it."

"Why?"

"Master trusted you," Kreacher said miserably. "Master Regulus thought Master Black would do as he asked."

"He didn't ask me to do anything."

Wet eyes blinked at him. "Master Black betrays Master…"

"Stop saying that!"

Kreacher took a step back. Gritting his teeth, Sirius forced a calming breath. "What did he want me to do?"

"Master Black knows."

"No," Sirius said tightly, "Master Black does not. There was nothing in that letter except an explanation about Rigel's magic."

"Kreacher extracted the memory himself," the elf said, beginning to tremble again. "Kreacher gave them to Master Black! Kreacher obeyed!"

"The memories?" Sirius asked, dread beginning to squeeze his stomach now. "He asked me to do something in the memory?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Kreacher obeyed!"

Sirius sat back on his heels to survey the ludicrous elf. "I didn't look at the memories—"

"Master Black betrays Master!"

"—I couldn't," Sirius said forcefully, clenching his hands so that he wouldn't grab Kreacher and shake him. "I tried, but my father's magic took the memories away before I could see them."

Suspicion touched the large eyes.

"Do you know what was in the memory?" Harry asked, and then grimaced. "Sorry."

Sirius waved that away. "Do you?" he asked the elf.

"Instructions. For Master Black. Instructions for Kreacher."

"Instructions for what?" Sirius asked intently.

Kreacher held himself taller. "Instructions to kill the dark lord."

Sirius stared at him. "Sorry?"

The words flowed easily from the elf, as if he was unburdening himself. "Master cursed the dark lord's locket. Master was most brave. Kreacher delivered the locket to the dark lord. Master Black was meant to activate the curse, Master Black was meant to kill the dark lord because Master Regulus could not. Master Regulus gave the ancestor's magic to Master Black. Master trusted Master Black…"

Kreacher's shoulders slumped again, but not in defense this time. Defeat.

Defeat, because Regulus' plan had been realized too late. Defeat, because Sirius hadn't read the letter. Hadn't bothered even to open it. And if Voldemort truly could have been cursed—if he could have been defeated before…

Sickened, Sirius sat back on his heels.

"The magic came to me."

Unfocused, Sirius gazed at Harry.

"Not Sirius," Harry said softly to Kreacher.

"Master Black was meant to open the letter," Kreacher said stubbornly.

"They couldn't send me to kill Voldemort, anyway," Harry said, just as stubborn. "I was a baby."

Kreacher glared. "Kreacher obeyed."

Harry raised his eyebrows, but didn't reply.

"Harry's right," Sirius said as he ran a hand down his face; reading the letter would not have changed anything. "We wouldn't have been able to do anything even if I had seen the memories. I would have tried," he amended, "but I didn't know Harry was my son, or that the magic was his instead. I couldn't have activated anything. Voldemort would have killed me."

Comforted by that, Sirius let his muscles relax again. Except that Harry had lost his colour. "It's all right," Sirius said quickly. "It didn't happen."

Kreacher was looking between them with a fair amount of disgust again; there would be no permanent détente. "Do you know where Reg's portrait is?" he asked anyway.

"Kreacher does not know," the elf said smugly. Clearly a lie.

Sirius stood, ignoring Kreacher as he scuttled back. "Let's go, Harry."

Harry darted a glance for the elf, but dutifully preceded Sirius up the stairs.

"Master trusted Master Black!"

"He wasn't even listening," Harry said as they went down the corridor.

"He is obsessed with Regulus' last orders," Sirius sighed. "Even though I couldn't have done as Reg asked, even though Voldemort is gone anyway, the orders are still unfulfilled. And there is nothing worse for a house-elf, especially one like Kreacher. He has always been absurdly loyal to my mother and brother."

"Isn't he supposed to be loyal to the whole family?"

Morbid amusement quirked Sirius' mouth. "It is the ideal." He scratched Harry's shoulder blade, and said, "Shall we have a game of chess? It's late, but we have time for a quick round."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't smiling.

"Something the matter?"

"No. I have classes tomorrow."

"We'll have you back in time."

Harry sighed. "Yeah."

"We'll see each other again, soon," Sirius promised.

"We have a Hogsmeade weekend in two more weeks." Harry ducked his head quickly before asking, "You'll be there?"

Smiling, Sirius nodded. "Same cave." He squeezed Harry's shoulder. "And if you need me before then, you have only to send an owl. Or use the mirror I gave you. And Dumbledore can find me. I'm not going anywhere."

"OK," Harry agreed in a small voice. "But you'll be safe, yeah?"

"Just as I have been."

Harry nodded. He swallowed and in a rush of stumbling words, said, "I'm sorry I didn't come to Hogsmeade. I know I was being a giant git—"

"Hey." Sirius ducked his head, held his son's eyes. "It's all forgotten. I am not going anywhere."

Harry took that in, absorbed it deeply enough to nod.

"Do you still have the mirror?" Sirius asked.

Another quick nod.

"Then I will expect you to use it." He raised an eyebrow. "Understood?"

With a shaky laugh, Harry said, "Yeah."

Sirius smiled. "Good then." He opened his arms. The invitation was accepted.


	11. Through a Bright Rain

A soft whimper brought Sirius' attention from the scroll he was reading. He could see Harry through the bare lamplight, grimacing instead of sleeping in peace. Another whimper escaped, pitiful enough to make Sirius rise from the desk. He stood there, watching Harry's eyelids flutter. His fingers gripped the pillow and just as Sirius began moving forward, Harry woke with a gasp.

His eyes were wild as they searched—for what, Sirius did not know. But as soon as he saw Sirius, Harry's panic subsided. Letting out a sharp breath, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the pillow. "Bloody…"

Sirius finished the journey and sat near Harry's feet. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah…" The grimace did not leave. Sirius leant forward, startling Harry when he opened his eyes. Harry's hand strayed to the lightning bolt, where Sirius' eyes were fastened.

"Does that hurt?" Sirius asked.

"Bit."

Sirius raised his eyebrows and Harry nodded. Taking that as permission, Sirius ghosted the pad of his thumb alongside the scar; didn't touch. "It's quite red. Does this always happen when it hurts?"

But Harry shrugged. "Never looked."

"Accio mirror." Sirius' wandless command brought two mirrors, Harry's from his backpack and his own from the desk. Smiling slightly, Sirius gave over James' old mirror. Harry brought it close to squint at his reflection. He made a face.

"Good job it only does that when I'm asleep."

Sirius bent over, adding his face to the reflection. "Barely noticeable," he said prosaically.

"Sure, if you have your eyes closed," Harry grumbled.

Sirius smiled, but caught the mirror before Harry could put it down. Harry gave him a quizzical glance. "Take a look," Sirius said.

"I saw it—"

"Not at your scar, mate. At us."

Harry's reflected expression was one of confusion. Sirius pulled his brows down to mimic. "We have the same chin, you know." He caught the side of his son's head before he could turn to gape. "Don't look at me, nutter. Look in the mirror."

Harry frowned but it was in study this time. His eyes traced over Sirius' reflected features and then back again to his own. "Our hair is the same colour."

"It _is_ in the name," Sirius said, smile broadening when Harry rolled his eyes. "All of the Blacks do have dark hair. Most of them."

Harry squinted again, closed one eye after a moment. "It's hard to tell without my glasses."

"I'll fetch them—"

"No," Harry said, "hard to tell if I look like my dad." He frowned. "Like James… Dad." He made a frustrated sound.

Sirius squeezed his shoulder. "You do share similar features, although it is true that the glasses might make the difference," he said. "No one looks exactly like anyone else. Except perhaps Ron's brothers."

Matching smiles filled the glass. Harry tilted his head, darted a glance to Sirius. "We could be related."

"Yes," Sirius chuckled. "We just might be."

Smiling, Harry put the mirror in Sirius' outstretched palm. Once it was replaced in Harry's backpack, Sirius asked, "You haven't had that dream in quite a long time? Was it the same dream?"

"It wasn't really a dream, I guess," Harry said slowly; he sat up and folded his legs into a pretzel. "Felt like I couldn't breathe. And it was dark."

"Mm, sounds dreadful."

"S'allright." A shrug. "Didn't remember where I was."

Sirius squeezed his arm. "You're safe," he felt the need to say, no matter that it was obvious. Harry smiled anyway, but then almost immediately frowned.

"What time is it? You weren't sleeping?"

Glancing at the clock, Sirius went for a nonchalant shrug. "Bit of insomnia."

"Why?"

Deciding on honesty, Sirius said, "I've never slept well since Azkaban."

"Because you have nightmares?"

"Yes, sometimes. I'm conditioned for less sleep now as well."

After a moment, Harry asked, "What was it like? Azkaban?"

"I shouldn't like to return," Sirius said with a small smile.

"Maybe you should stay here—when I go to Hogwarts tomorrow. You'll be safer, and—"

"But you may not be," Sirius interrupted. "I can't stay here, knowing that someone put your name in the cup."

"But it could have been a kid—as a prank or something. And if you stay here—"

"If I stay here," Sirius interrupted firmly, "I will pace through the floor. Not to mention, I will likely go mad."

"But you could use the Floo if something happens—"

Sirius sighed, "Harry."

Harry's mouth closed slowly.

"I do appreciate how worried you've been," Sirius said, lowering his chin to keep Harry's gaze. "All of your arguments are perfectly sound, but I am going to Hogsmeade tomorrow. I've been there for months—longer than a year if you count all the time since I left Azkaban. All of the time I spent prowling round the grounds."

Sirius could see that Harry wanted to argue—it was in the eyes, the slight twitch of his lips.

"Well?" Sirius prompted, not quite able to still his amusement. "What is it?"

Harry hesitated, and Sirius reckoned it was to his credit that he did finally say, "It would be faster to travel through the Floo than all the way through the passageway from the Shrieking Shack. And no one will accidentally see you here."

It was only Sirius' wish to ease the anxiety in the green eyes that kept him from refusing outright. Kept him from refusing at all. "If it's important to you,"he said quietly, "I will stay here." The unplumbed relief on Harry's face made it seem less like a sacrifice. Smiling a little, Sirius said, "I will need to go to Hogsmeade in two weeks if you want to see me."

Harry grinned.

"But I want you to promise me that you will use the mirror if you need anything," Sirius said, holding up a hand to forestall the excitement. "And your promise that you will keep yourself safe." But even what he meant to be a stern tone didn't dim Harry's grin.

"I promise."

Trying not to smile, Sirius made an attempt to sort his son's sleep-tousled hair. "It's late… early rather." Nearly five now. "Try to sleep a bit more."

"I'm not tired," was Harry's reply. "We still need to look for your brother's portrait."

"He's your uncle as well as my brother," Sirius found himself saying. Harry simply nodded. "If you're not tired," Sirius added, "I do have a few ideas of where he might be."

The circles under his eyes gave Harry away, but unwilling to argue about it, Sirius stood and gestured Harry up. Harry untangled his legs from the quilts, nearly tripping himself in the process.

Chuckling, Sirius gave him his glasses and sent him along with a light swat. Harry glanced over his shoulder, a small smile playing at his lips. He ducked his head before it could form fully and slipped into the toilet.

Sirius sighed deeply. Grimmauld Place without Harry suddenly seemed more dreadful than he could bear.

\--

"Maybe it isn't in the house," Harry said as he polished off his third bowl of corn flakes. They had given up the search in favor of breakfast.

"I doubt Kreacher took it anywhere else."

"But you don't know that he knows where it is," Harry said, using his thumb to swipe a stray flake from the corner of his mouth.

Sirius slid a napkin over the table. "He knows."

"But it's silly not to tell us," Harry said around the cloth. "We told him we wanted to do as your… Regulus asked all those years ago."

"Spite," Sirius said succinctly. "As simple as that."

"You could order him to tell you, yeah?"

"I doubt he would answer honestly. Or, if he did, I reckon he would move the portrait before we could find it." Harry's frown found him offering, "There is a chance Dumbledore might be able to retrieve the memories from the Pensieve." Didn't much matter any longer that Sirius had no desire to allow the headmaster into his father's study.

"Do you think so?"

"I will ask him." Sirius smiled along with Harry, but the moment was lost when the ancient clock chimed from mantel. "As much as I wish it wasn't…"

Harry sighed as he pushed his chair from the table. "Back to school, yeah."

"Two weeks isn't so very long," Sirius said, standing along with him. He took the waiting school bag from the chair rail and handed it over. "I won't be able to contact you, remember, since I have no way of knowing if you're alone."

"I'll use the mirror this time," Harry said as he adjusted the strap over his shoulder.

"Good lad. Keep your head down, and your friends close. Especially on your way to Hogsmeade."

Harry nodded dutifully.

Sirius adjusted the knot in Harry's tie, smoothed his collar down as he asked, "Did you have enough to eat?"

A small smile. "Yeah."

Sirius swallowed through the rough patch as he nodded. "I will send an owl if we recover the memories… or pass along a message with Dumbledore."

"Right."

Sirius put a hand between Harry's shoulder blades to guide him the few steps to the fireplace, and then hugged him tightly. "I will be here if you need me," he said as Harry stepped back. He drew his knuckles down his son's cheek. "For anything."

Harry's eyes were bright as he nodded.

Smiling, Sirius offered him the decorative pot of Floo powder, stepped back to allow him to duck inside. With another deep sigh, Harry threw down the powder and called for Dumbledore's office.

When the flames faded to silence, Sirius closed his eyes. Allowed the echoes to enfold him, the stench of centuries to wade into his skin. And as the house stretched its years around his neck, he allowed that as well.

Eleven years he had survived this place—various summers and holidays after that. But this time there was no grace in the shape of the Potters to save him. He had never meant to return; he hadn't even been welcome at his father's funeral.

Not that he had complained—at least to anyone outside his head.

Sirius' eyes flew up when the Floo roared. The tangle of hope morphed quickly to surprise. Remus grinned out at him.

"Thought you might like company."

The house's fingers slackened their grip. Sirius smiled and gestured his friend to come through. "Beautiful sight, you are."

"Not enjoying your leisure?"

Sirius snorted. "Had quite enough of that in Azkaban, thank you. What are you doing here?"

"I knew Harry was returning to Hogwarts this morning. Has he left?"

"Only just."

"I'm coming with you to Hogsmeade," Remus told him. "Haven't much else to do."

"As much as you would enjoy living in a cave," Sirius said, smiling a little at the self-effacing tone, "I'm not going to Hogsmeade."

"No? Why?"

Sirius gestured for Remus' cloak and sent it along to one of the hooks near the fireplace. "Harry was worried about me being in Hogsmeade, so I agreed to stay here."

He didn't understand the look his friend was giving him until Remus said, "Has you wound round his little finger, I see."

Sirius opened his mouth to object, and then realized the observation was entirely accurate. "No harm in my doing this for him."

"No harm at all," Remus agreed. "Except to your state of mind."

"Yes, well, my state of mind will simply have to make do."

"Mm, I rather doubt it will," Remus said. "Which means I am staying here with you." He rubbed his palms together briskly, a twisted smile emerging. "What shall we do?"

With a laugh, Sirius clipped his shoulder. "Harry and I have been searching for Regulus' portrait.

"Ah. Have you looked through Kreacher's cupboard?"

Sirius cocked his head. "Seems too obvious. But, no. And why that blasted elf sleeps in the cupboard…" He cut himself off, not wanting to think about cupboards being used as rooms.

"Perhaps it's cosy."

Sirius flicked an amused glare his way as he turned for the cupboard. Kreacher wasn't inside. Only the wadded nest of blankets he used as a bed. When Sirius had lived here, Kreacher's place had been a small room next to the master bedroom; Sirius had no idea why he chose not to use it now.

"Have you looked in the bedrooms?" Remus asked when he said as much. Sirius closed the door on the manky space.

"First place we looked," he answered. "We scoured the downstairs as well. There are too many hidden rooms in this house—and as I told you, they move."

"And the attic?"

"Harry had to return to Hogwarts," Sirius said, shaking his head.

"To the attic, then?"

Sirius gestured, palm up and sketched a decent bow. "After you, dear Moony."

"What are you going to do once you find the portrait?" Remus asked as they made their way up the squeaky stairs.

"Harry is worried about Rigel's magic, I think. He hasn't said as much, but the idea of so much magic—and not knowing what it is capable of—bothers him. I assume Regulus researched it. I hope he did." Sirius sighed. "I can't find any of the most ancient texts. My father kept them along the highest shelf, and I think if I can find Reg's portrait…"

"You think Kreacher moved those along with the portrait?"

"Reg's room was bare," Sirius replied. He put a finger to his lips as they passed his mother's portrait. Their soft footsteps kept her from coming to life. Once they were halfway up the next flight of stairs, Sirius said quietly, "Kreacher must have moved everything. His trophies were gone, all of his textbooks from Hogwarts, even the old stuffed thestral he pretended he stopped sleeping with when he was five."

"What would he do with all of it?"

"Create a shrine to my brother, no doubt." Shaking himself slightly from the old bitterness, Sirius said, "I do want to thank him—Regulus. If not for him…"

Remus didn't make him finish, nodded his understanding instead. Sirius smiled a little and hooked a thumb toward the fourth floor as they passed the landing. "The Hall of Portraits is over there. One of my grandfathers told me Reg wasn't in there and Alphard said the same when we went in—"

"You spoke to Alphard?"

Sirius nodded. "Harry wanted to meet the other portraits." He shrugged when Remus' eyebrows lifted with surprise. "He hasn't the same memories. Part of me wants to keep him away from them, but I would rather he want to know them than where we were before."

"The rest of them were there, then?" Remus asked, his voice soft with sympathy.

"Yes. Harry met my father as well." The tale was relayed with a grimace. "Not my finest moment."

"Your father deserves worse," Remus murmured. "And as for Harry, he knew very well what he was doing. You, old chap, have a difficult task—nearly impossible. I've never met a more independent child."

"I know," Sirius sighed. "And I don't want to take that away from him. It is part of who he is."

"Part of who you are."

Sirius glanced over sharply.

Remus gave him a pointed look.

Sirius didn't reply; saw no need. "I want him to be safe. I told him as much." He smiled wryly when Remus' raised an eyebrow. "He's fourteen, I know. He thinks he's invincible."

"He has had to do things no child ought to be doing," Remus reminded him.

"And it doesn't exactly help that he saved me from the Dementors," Sirius added. "I know. Believe me, Moony, I have no illusions."

"You might cobble together a bit of confidence, however."

Sirius scowled at his friend. "I will remind you of that when you have a child."

"Never going to happen, dear Padfoot." And before Sirius could argue, Remus said with a teasing grin, "But as your best mate, I am allowed to offer suggestions."

"Is that so?"

"Quite. Besides," Remus added, "Harry needs a proper uncle type now, doesn't he? Can't be godfather and father both."

Sirius eyed him. "Are you volunteering?"

"For godfather? No," Remus said, chuckling. "I can't fill those shoes, I think. But if either of you need a spare pair of ears, I am here."

"You've already been that."

Remus smiled. Sirius shared it and then both of them faced the door in front of them—smaller than the others in the house. No decoration at all. The attic.

"I haven't been in here since I was sixteen. It was a good hiding place," he explained. Remus didn't ask from what. Realizing he was nervous to see his brother's portrait, he hesitated. He caught Remus' eye, chided himself for being silly and opened the door.

He wrinkled his nose; the smell of mould was overwhelming.

"I don't think anyone has been in here since then," Remus murmured. "The dust is centimetres thick." He sneezed as the closing door brought up a cloud of dust.

"Not promising, is it?"

"Not unless Kreacher rearranges the dust before he leaves," Remus snorted.

Smiling, Sirius skirted round a heap of robes to peer over an untidy stack of trunks. "It could be anywhere."

"Inside anything," he heard Remus' muffled agreement. "Why in the world does any family need so many bureaus?"

"My mother redecorated at least once a year."

"Why didn't she vanish the old furniture?"

"She always ordered Kreacher to tend to it."

"Lovely solution. A painting could fit in most of these…"

Sirius turned to consider the antiques. "You certain you have nothing better to do?"

For answer, Remus rolled up his sleeves.

\--

When a familiar rustling interrupted the fairly futile search, Sirius straightened abruptly from the crouch he'd found himself in—searching infinite trunks. Fumbling in one of his pockets, he had to tug twice before he pulled his mirror free. He frowned when he found Hermione's face. But before he could react, her features tilted and then after some muffled sounds which Sirius couldn't decipher, Harry appeared.

"Hi," he said, out of breath and with crimson cheeks.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Harry puffed. "Not now," he hissed to someone out of Sirius' view.

"What's going on?" Sirius asked, bringing the glass closer to his face, though there was no reason to. Remus paused in his search to look up in concern.

"Nothing," Harry answered, just as a voice that was probably Hermione's said, "You're being silly." Harry waved her off.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Just wanted to say hello."

Very much not liking the tone of Hermione's accusation, Sirius found it difficult not to frown. "Has something happened?" he asked. Harry shook his head, though his pink cheeks might have told a different story. "Harry, if—"

"Honestly," Harry said, and Sirius relaxed at the earnest tone. "I'm fine. Hermione's being irritating, that's all." A pointed glance sideways, and a definite Hermione-ish huff. Harry returned his eyes to Sirius. "What are you doing? You're still safe, yeah?"

"Yes," Sirius answered. "Remus and I are in the attic just now—looking for Reg's portrait."

"Oh." Harry looked relieved. "Did you find it?"

"No, but if you need a new school trunk, we have several. How do you feel about Slytherin's crest?"

Harry grinned. "No thanks." More muffled sounds made Harry sigh. "I have to go. We have Transfiguration and if I'm late again, McGonagall will have my head."

"Again?"

Harry shrugged, mostly with his eyebrows. "You'll tell me if you find the portrait?" With Sirius' nod, Harry said his farewells and before Sirius even had time to reply, he was gone.

Sirius stared at his own reflection, finally lowering the mirror. Remus was watching him. Grimacing, Sirius said, "Being a fugitive isn't quite as thrilling as it sounds."

Remus smiled a little. "I don't think being a free man would help in this case."

Sirius replaced the mirror in his pocket. "Harry would tire of me in about a week."

"Oh, I think it would take at least two."

Not quite amused, Sirius smiled anyway and went back to searching. But his thoughts were no longer with Regulus. His turned over the exchange with Harry, Hermione's whispered comment. Being silly about what?

Perhaps Harry hadn't wanted to tell him something? The possibilities were infinite. Something to do with McGonagall's detention? Being late to class?

But no, that would have happened before the weekend, before the second task.

"Sirius?"

Sirius brought his eyes up, stared quizzically at his friend for a moment as he attempted to sort out what Remus had just said. "Sorry?"

Remus scrubbed at some of the dust clinging to his palm. "Harry would have told you if something was wrong."

Not believing it completely, Sirius nodded. "Yes, I suppose so." He dusted his knees as he straightened. "Lunch?"

"And a spare glass of wine."

"My mother's finest is still in the kitchen," Sirius said, picking his way over a line of dilapidated furniture. "Elf wine from all over the world."

"See?" Remus said with a grin. "She wasn't so terrible."

"No," Sirius agreed, dead-pan. "She was absolute duck." At the door, he pulled a hand down his face, but the grit of fatigue was still heavy in his eyes. "I'm not sure I want to have another go in here."

Remus closed the door. "I think perhaps you need sleep more than you need to find that portrait. You look dreadful."

"So kind, Moony."

Remus ignored his sarcasm. "Have you been sleeping?"

"No, Mum."

Remus' lips twitched. "I will fetch a sleeping potion from my flat. Don't argue."

"Wouldn't think of it, mate."

"What else do you need?" Remus asked. "Anything from the shops?"

"No—" Sirius halted on the third floor landing. Kreacher was slipping out of the study. His furtive glance turned to wide-eyed surprise. Narrowing his eyes, Sirius asked, "What were you doing in my father's office?"

The elf struck a beatific pose. "Kreacher was cleaning."

"You haven't cleaned this house in fifteen years."

But the elf was a step ahead. He bowed low, his voice taking on its most simpering tone. "Kreacher has displeased Master Black."

Sirius found Remus' gaze over Kreacher's back. "He's a quick one," Sirius muttered. Remus hid his smile behind his fingers.

"Kreacher lives to serve."

"Then tell me what you were doing in my father's office."

Wide, innocent eyes. "Kreacher was cleaning."

A different tack perhaps. "Well done then," Sirius said. Kreacher blinked. Sirius' smile was one he had used many times with McGonagall. "There is something else that would please me as well."

The elf's eyes briefly narrowed in suspicion. Sirius kept his pasted smile in place. "And I think it would please Regulus as well. I should like to thank him for being so brave. He was very clever, of course. And he said you helped him." Regulus hadn't said that, but it was a good addition; Kreacher's chest puffed up. "Will you thank him for me?" Sirius asked.

And just as quickly as it had come, the pride was snuffed out. Kreacher lifted his chin. "Kreacher does not know where the portrait is." And then he turned away, muttering to himself, "Master Black betrayed Master..."

"It was a fine effort," Remus said quietly.

Sirius scowled at nothing in particular. "If I promise not to move from the cave, Harry won't insist I stay here, do you think?"

"I think," Remus said as they turned to the stairs, "that you are thirty-four and quite capable of making decisions without the help of a fourteen-year old."

"Have you always been so helpful?"

"Yes."

"No, honestly, Moony," Sirius drawled while their feet clipped each step. "Helpful. Find a dictionary and make use of the definition, won't you?" Even through the dim candlelight, he could see Remus' grin.

\--

It was only two days before Harry contacted him again—and once again, it was Hermione's face Sirius saw first. Only for a second before Harry appeared. He could hear Hermione's sigh as if an echo. "Hi," Harry said—breathless seemed to be a permanent state. "We just came in from a pick-up match."

"Ah. Did you catch the Snitch?"

"Of course."

Sirius smiled. Harry's cheeks were wind-chafed, which Sirius was glad to see. "Who played?" he asked.

"Some Hufflepuffs challenged us. They're still sore about me being a champion."

"Poor losers too," Ron chimed in from somewhere out of view.

"Not all of them," Harry corrected with a shrug. "Cedric shook my hand. He was the other Seeker."

"Very well done, then."

Harry grinned. "Thanks."

A door creaked open; closed again firmly.

"They're guarding the door," Harry explained; referring to Ron and Hermione, or so Sirius could only assume. "You'll never believe it."

The irate tone immediately quickened Sirius' heart. "What?"

"We're going to have a ball," Harry said disgustedly. "A _ball_. Before the third task. With dancing and everything. A Champions' Ball. And McGonagall said I have to take a date; because I'm a champion."

Sirius tried not to laugh at the outraged expression on Harry's face. Clearly, he was expected to commiserate. "Bad luck," he murmured. Harry's nod was emphatic.

"I know. And she had all of the Gryffindors in for dancing lessons. So we wouldn't embarrass her."

Sirius grinned; couldn't help it. "Tell me you didn't have to dance with McGonagall."

"I did! And so did Ron, but he was first and she used him to demonstrate to all of us. I thought his face was going to melt straight off."

Sirius laughed.

"Yeah," Harry said, leaning in as if telling a great secret. "She only corrected a few steps with me. I had to dance with Neville. Neville's aces. And he danced all over the dorm room last night. You should have seen him."

"Perhaps you should ask him then."

"Yeah," Harry said, his grin widening. "Except he already asked Padma."

"And who are you going to ask?"

"Dunno. Not Ron, he's a horrible dancer."

Sirius chuckled. He cocked his head thoughtfully. "You will need proper dress robes."

"Oh, right. Mrs. Weasley already took care of it."

"Did she?" Sirius pretended it wasn't jealousy curling his stomach. "You asked her to?"

"It was on the list of supplies—in our Hogwarts' letter. I went to Diagon Alley with the Weasleys after the Quidditch Cup."

"Oh."

"I can't believe we have to dance," Harry went on, unaware that Sirius was dutifully squashing his resentment.

"It won't be so terrible," Sirius assured him.

Harry made a face. "Except for Neville, we're all pants at it."

"You simply need a little practice."

"Loads of practice."

Smiling, Sirius said, "I will show you a few steps when you visit Hogsmeade."

Harry eyed him. "You know how to dance?"

"Of course. Every Black knows how to dance. It's in the blood."

"Right. If that were true," Harry scoffed, "I wouldn't be having so much trouble…" His mouth twisted, rosy cheeks darkening briefly. "I mean…" He shrugged and suddenly seemed determined to be looking anywhere else, which was difficult in the circumstances.

Rather encouraged by Harry's unintentional reference to being his son, Sirius said, "A few lessons, and you will be a better dancer even than Neville."

Harry's eyes came up. "I don't need to be that good… I just don't want to look like a git."

"You won't," Sirius promised.

"All the champions have to dance first," Harry said; his face had relaxed.

"I reckon your date will like that."

"Do you believe McGonagall said I have to ask someone?"

"Yes," Sirius said, once again not hiding his smile. Harry made a face.

"It isn't funny."

"No," Sirius agreed, straightening his lips. "Whom would you like to ask? If I recall, there was a special someone…"

Harry's cheeks lit up. "There isn't. And anyway, I haven't any idea how to ask."

Sirius refrained from teasing him again. "It is more intimidating than it sounds," he said seriously. "The girls will be nervous as well, wondering if anyone will ask them. You simply go up to her and ask her if she would like to accompany you to the ball. And I can't imagine any girl saying no to you, but," Sirius added, "if they do, you thank them and ask someone else."

"But if she says no…"

"It will be awkward," Sirius said honestly. "And you'll try not to trip over your feet on the way out, but don't think about that just now. She'll say yes."

Harry nodded. "Right." And after a pause during which Sirius positively did not ask, Harry ducked his head and mumbled, "It's Cho Chang. She's a Ravenclaw."

Trying not to sound utterly pleased to be included, Sirius smiled. "Lucky girl."

Harry grinned, and then glanced sideways. "Dinner," he sighed. "Hermione is summoning me."

Sirius nodded. "Is Hermione keeping the mirror for you?"

"What do… erm, no. Well, yeah," Harry amended, "she had it while we were playing Quidditch. I didn't want to break it."

"You needn't worry about that. James and I cast Unbreakable Charms on them."

"Oh."

"Is it working properly?" Sirius asked, still confused as to why Hermione had activated the mirror.

"Seems to be, yeah."

Telling himself he was being overly worrisome, Sirius let it go. He said, "Contact me again when you can."

"I will. You haven't found Regulus' portrait yet, have you?"

"Not a trace."

"Harry!" Hermione's whispered voice came through the mirror clearly. "Seamus is coming."

Harry hesitated, so Sirius said, "You don't want to be late to dinner. Go on."

"Right." Harry's smile turned down at the corners. "Bye."

"Bye."

The mirror went dark.

Sighing, Sirius returned it to his pocket. Remus, who had discreetly left the room, eventually returned. "How is he?" he asked.

Sirius propped his chin in a hand. "Growing up," he said glumly.

"Sorry?"

"They are having a Champions' Ball before the third task," Sirius explained. "He's going to have his first date."

"Who is he going with?"

"Cho Chang. If she says yes."

Remus smiled at him. "Cho is a lovely girl, if that helps."

"Vaguely, I suppose."

"She's a fifth year."

Sirius' head came up. "A fifth year?"

"Unless they made her repeat her fourth year, yes," Remus replied, and he was obviously trying not to laugh.

"It's all very well for you," Sirius huffed. "He isn't supposed to be fourteen. Practically the last time I saw him he was a sprog, zipping around on the toy broomstick I gave him."

"The last time you saw him, Padfoot, he was fourteen."

"You know what I mean, Remus," Sirius said sourly.

"All parents must think their children are growing too fast."

But not all parents missed twelve years of their children's lives. But rather than saying it aloud, Sirius turned his attention to the scrolls littering the desk. He and Remus had found several dozen in the attic. "Regulus had to find that spell somewhere," he muttered; mostly to himself.

And Remus dutifully let the other matter go. They bent back over the parchments—some of them centuries old, and filled with magic darker even than Sirius had known existed in this house.


	12. Churning a Dissonant Harmony

Sirius paced the corridor's narrow boards; pivoted and retraced his path. He halted as soon as he heard the familiar pop of glass shattering. There would be nothing left in the study before long.

The door opened and Dumbledore ducked to avoid a frame as it sailed past. Remus moved quickly enough to avoid it as well; it smashed into the wall, its pieces hitting the floor with echoing thuds.

Swearing under his breath, Sirius took one more turn before stopping in front of the headmaster. He pointedly ignored Remus' gaping.

"Nothing?" Sirius asked roughly.

Dumbledore shook shards of glass from his jeweled hat as he sighed. "The magic embedded in this house is meant to thwart outsiders," he said. Something Sirius had already known.

"But I'm not an outsider," he said. He raked frustrated fingers through his hair. "I'm the head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black." With acrimony it was both said and felt. But Sirius didn't particularly care that he sounded more like a petulant child than someone with centuries of history firmly at his back.

"That may indeed be the point."

Sirius blew out a breath, but managed to ask in a relatively normal tone, "How do you mean?"

"I believe Harry was correct in postulating that the memories would return to him, since Rigel's magic was intended for him. And he is in possession of your family's most revered magic—this house respects its power."

Sighing, Sirius massaged his temples.

"The memories are locked within the Pensieve's stone," Dumbledore said. "Not in the study itself."

Sirius considered that. "He can't control the Pensieve on its own, then." "

"I do not think so. If you were to remove the Pensieve, perhaps Harry might make an attempt to retrieve them."

"Is it possible to remove it?" Remus asked, still eyeing Sirius with concern.

"It does not seem to be held in place with magic," Dumbledore said.

"No," Sirius agreed. "I didn't sense that it was. I'll attempt to move it."

"Perhaps a joint effort?" Dumbledore suggested with eyebrows raised.

Sirius hesitated, debating which might make his father's lingering magic the angriest. "I don't think we both need to be pelted with glass," he finally said.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "As you wish."

"Sirius," Remus began, but Sirius silenced him with a shake of his head.

"I'm fine," he said, a shade too firmly perhaps. But Remus didn't argue. Taking a deep breath, Sirius pulled out the wand he had taken from the attic—Alphard's wand. It didn't work as well as his original, but much better than the one Dumbledore gave him before the summer.

The study was still vibrating with its violent magical release. And to Sirius' great surprise, his father's frame was empty—only the background scene remaining. Pulling in a breath swiftly through his nostrils, Sirius didn't bother to wonder whether fate or luck had intervened.

He only realised he was holding his breath when the Pensieve was heavy in his arms and he was halfway to the door. Moving as quickly as he could he nearly sprinted over the threshold and then stood, breathing heavily as Dumbledore and Remus' worried expression changed to delight.

"How did you…" Remus gestured.

"He wasn't there. Close the door?"

"Was he upstairs, do you think?" Remus asked as he obliged.

"I've no idea. Good job he didn't think to stick it down before he died." Sirius grinned. "Didn't realize he had fathered a thief, I suppose." He shifted the weight in his arms.

They were at the second landing when they heard the inevitable cry of rage.

"Ah, impeccable timing," Dumbledore murmured. He was stepping back, startled, in the next moment as the curtains covering Walburga's portrait flew open.

"Bring it back at once, you disgusting whelp!"

Sirius didn't even pause. His father's furious voice followed him all the way down the stairs.

"Do you see?" his mother joined the shrieking. "Do you see what you've brought upon our House! A House full of thieves and liars! Filthy half-blood children, Sirius Black!"

"I should have turned our magic against you! Should have stripped you of our name!" his father bellowed. "It would have been worth the shame, never to be forced to look upon your face again! You wretched, misbegotten boy! You and your mongrel son!"

Sirius' chest was squeezed beyond breath by the time he reached the main floor. He didn't stop, not even when Remus called his name. He simply walked faster, away from the words he couldn't bear to hear. As if he was sixteen again, he fled.

But as soon as he rounded the corner into the library, his legs refused to obey. He stood there, staring at nothing as his heart pounded against his temples. With his chest heaving, he sagged into the desk chair.

He shoved the Pensieve away, growling a string of profanity that would likely make his mother proud. Finally.

And when that didn't take the ache from his chest, Sirius bent over the desk, closed his eyes and buried his face in his arms.

\--

They found him eventually. He heard the separate footsteps, but didn't bother to raise his head. No point really.

"Sirius…"

_Yes, Remus, I know they are horrible people_. He could have said that. Could have said many things. He said nothing though, not even when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Dear boy…" Dumbledore's voice this time. The tone so foreign that Sirius lifted his head. Dumbledore crouching; it was a very odd sight. "You cannot remain here."

"If Harry knew," Remus started to say.

"No," Sirius interrupted, not expecting the harsh tone even as it emerged. "No," he repeated softly. "I'm fine—"

"You are not," Remus retorted, just as harsh. "Stop saying you are. Stop pretending you are, and get the hell out of here."

"This is not a permanent solution," Dumbledore added. "Had I known—"

Sirius dislodged the headmaster's hand as he stood. "I appreciate the concern—" The words came through his teeth. "—but this is hardly the first time I have listened to my parents insult me. I am perfectly capable of staying here for as long as I need to."

"But you don't need to," Remus said. "And if Harry knew how they made you feel— _If he knew_ ," he drowned out Sirius' reply, "he would not ask you to stay here."

Sirius rounded. "He has enough to worry about, Remus, without worrying about me!"

Narrowing his eyes, Remus demanded, "And out of all those things, which do you think he is worrying about most?"

Wanting very much to rage, Sirius turned away. He scraped the stone Pensieve across the desk. "Which is exactly why I am staying here."

But this time, Remus did not let it pass. "If you go mad from this place," he said tightly, "you will be of little use to Harry."

Sirius laughed. "If I go mad?" he echoed. "I spent twelve years in the company of Dementors. I wish my parents luck."

Neither Remus nor Dumbledore replied. Perhaps because he sounded slightly deranged. Even he could hear it. With his back still turned, he took in a long breath before drawing the tip of his wand along the Pensieve's rim. He could feel his brother's magic, mingling with his father's—suppressed by it. But before he could do anything more, a piercing crack had him pivoting away from the Pensieve, his wand at the defensive.

Fawkes hovered just below the ceiling, a neat scroll in her claws.

"What is this?" Dumbledore asked, eyeing his familiar over his spectacles. The magnificent bird trilled something that only the headmaster could understand. When he nodded, Fawkes transferred the scroll to him and then perched on Dumbledore's shoulder. Smiling slightly, the old wizard broke the wax seal and unrolled the missive.

After a few moments of silence, Dumbledore touched his fingers to his lips. "Dear me…" He pursed his lips and found Sirius' gaze. "I must return to Hogwarts," he said. "Barty Crouch has been gravely injured."

The words were inoffensive, but the hair at the back of Sirius' neck rose.

"He is alive," Dumbledore told them. "Only just, according to Poppy. Apparently, he was attacked. They found him at the edge of the Forbidden forest."

"What was he doing in the forest?" Remus asked.

But Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not know. I shall contact you this evening, Sirius."

Sirius could only nod. He didn't wait for them to disappear, though. He was already fumbling in his pocket. The deafening crack echoed in his ears as he pulled out his mirror. He stared at his reflection, trying to convince himself that he should not risk contacting Harry.

But if Crouch had been attacked… attacked by what?

At the edge of the forest. The edge.

"Allow me," Remus murmured. Sirius' jaw tightened, but there was little point in indulging in frustration. He folded his arms over his chest and stepped aside, out of the mirror's range.

Remus' tone was oddly apologetic as he called Harry's name.

There was much fumbling before Harry's surprised voice said, "Professor? What—is… Snuffles all right?"

"Yes," Remus answered. "If you have a moment, though, he would like to speak with you."

"Right. Hold on. Have to… Wait, Ron, stand guard."

"What if someone needs—"

"Tell them the toilet exploded."

"Oy, mate…"

More shuffling sounds and finally Harry said, "I'm alone. Ron is guarding the door."

Remus gave the mirror to Sirius, and without further ado, left the room. Harry's anxious expression melted to a smile. Mostly. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No," Sirius assured him. "Dumbledore told me that Crouch was attacked." He managed something like a smile. "Silly, I suppose, but I needed to see that you weren't hurt."

"I wasn't," Harry said, nodding. "His head was bleeding when we found him though; hadn't any color."

The words gelled slowly and when they did, Sirius struggled for a response. "How do you mean, _you_ found him?"

Harry squinted in confusion. "In the forest yesterday evening, Krum and I—"

"Victor Krum," Sirius repeated dumbly. "You and Krum found Crouch?"

"Yeah—"

"What were you doing in the forest with Victor Krum?" Sirius demanded, all of his worry morphing into the sharp question.

"I… How do you mean? We were just walking—"

"You were out for a stroll?" Sirius echoed. "In the Forbidden forest?"

"Well, not the entire time," Harry said with a shrug. "He wanted to show me something—"

"He wanted to…" Sirius fingers tightened at the mirror's edges. "What do you mean by going into the forbidden forest? At night, of all things? With someone you hardly know?"

Harry frowned. "It was just Krum. And it wasn't even past curfew."

"You were out of bounds—"

"I was only ten steps into the forest," Harry scoffed. "I told you I've been in the forest loads of times—"

"I don't care how many times you've been in that forest," Sirius snapped. "Or how much you believe you were justified—"

"It was a good job I was there," Harry interrupted with a scowl. "Crouch would have bled to death and I think we scared off whoever was with him."

Sirius' lips moved senselessly.

"What?" Harry demanded.

Sirius' heart was beating too fast. "Someone was with him?" he whispered. "Who?"

"I don't know," Harry said irritably. "We saw footprints."

"Someone else was in the forest?" Sirius repeated shakily. "Someone who was probably Crouch's attacker and you didn't turn round immediately?"

"We couldn't just leave him to bleed to death. Even if he is a git."

"Harry, have you any idea—" Sirius sucked in a breath, forced his teeth to unclench. "You could have been hurt." Killed, he did not say. Couldn't say. "You had no business being in that forest."

"But I was just—"

"Taking a stroll with Krum, yes I heard you."

"Nothing happened," Harry snapped. "Why are you so angry?"

"I'm frightened out of my wits," Sirius retorted. "Ever since someone put your name in the cup, I have been. Someone means you harm, and you refuse to take care."

"You're overreacting!"

"No, I am not," Sirius said, in a low voice shaking with his effort to suppress the tangled fear and anger. "My reaction to learning you were at the scene of an attack—likely an attack by another person—is perfectly reasonable, I'd say."

"Well, what did you want me to do? I couldn't just leave him there!"

"I didn't say you should have left him there. You shouldn't have been there in first place."

"You got up to all sorts of mischief in school," Harry said in a new scornful tone, "You and Dad… James, oh bugger it, whoever he is!"

"Neither James nor I dueled a basilisk," Sirius struggled to keep his voice down. "No one was trying to hurt us. And I don't care how justified you think you are, you are not to do something so foolish again. Is that clear?"

Harry's lip curled. "Yeah, perfectly."

Before Sirius could react to the sarcastic reply Ron's exasperated voice called, "Merlin's shorts, Harry!"

Harry looked away. "I have to go," he mumbled. His eyes came back, but only for a second. And then the he was indeed gone, replaced by Sirius' own reflection.

\--

"He was relocated to St. Mungo's," Dumbledore explained of Crouch over tea. Tea, which Sirius had not touched. He couldn't relax enough even to sit.

"And he has no idea what happened to him?" he asked.

"No memory of it, no. Hagrid and I did find physical evidence of another person—beyond Harry and Viktor."

"So, there was someone there." Sirius tightened his arms over his chest and tried not to sound as strangled as he felt. "Likely when Harry was there."

Dumbledore nodded. "I did detect four magical signatures, though I do not recognize the fourth. Both Viktor and Harry maintain they heard a sound they describe as someone crashing through trees. And they heard a man's voice which neither believes to be Barty's."

"Who the hell was it?" Sirius asked tightly. "Who would attack Crouch?"

"I do not know," Dumbledore answered, "though we cannot be certain it was an intentional attack."

"He was struck in the head," Remus pointed out.

"Which supports the notion of foul play," Dumbledore agreed soberly. "We have strengthened the wards around the forest, and all of the students have been warned not to venture past the pumpkin patch."

"And that's it?" Sirius demanded. "We cast a few wards and hope whoever it was doesn't come back?"

"I share your concern, Sirius, I assure you. But we must remember that if this person wished to harm Harry, he had a perfect opportunity."

That helped not at all. There was too much they didn't know. Too many variables, too much left to chance. "I am returning to Hogsmeade," he said. "I'll stay to the edge of the village and the Shrieking Shack. The tunnel as well."

"Your presence in any of those places would not have stopped Harry from entering the forest," Dumbledore said.

"Nothing will do that, apparently," Sirius muttered. He shook his head at the headmaster's inquiring glance.

But as always, Dumbledore was astute enough on his own. "Minerva was most displeased with him. He has been assigned three days' worth of detentions with her."

Sirius' eyebrows soared.

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles, adding, "Her first inclination was to ban him from Hogsmeade this Saturday, but I suspected you would not support that."

"No," Sirius agreed quietly. Though Harry very well might. The mirror had sat silent all day.

Dumbledore gave a delicate cough. "The detentions are in lieu of that."

Sirius nodded. "I haven't any objections," he finally said, when Dumbledore continued to gaze at him.

Dumbledore smiled. "Even as his father, I believe an objection would fall on deaf ears. Minerva was rather put out when I overruled her ban on Hogsmeade."

"No objection to a detention, Padfoot?"

Sirius shook his head, but couldn't find a smile. Remus meant to lighten the mood, he knew. But nothing could do that just now. "You will tell me if anything else happens?" he directed that to Dumbledore.

"Yes, and in the meantime, I will encourage Harry to remain indoors."

"I would appreciate that." In his dorm room under guard would be even better.

"Would you like company?" Remus asked.

"No," Sirius said softly. "Thank you, Moony."

\--

Padfoot lay with his muzzle on his paws, staring at the tidy town below. Most of the last snowfall had melted, leaving only a few patches of glittering ice. He wasn't expecting Harry; not really. Not after their last exchange.

The mirror had been silent since.

But at least this way he could see for himself that Harry was safe. Reports from Dumbledore held little comfort.

Three days with nothing between them. Though Dumbledore had promised Harry was well. And confirming that was the only thing that mattered anyway. So, Padfoot watched the wool caps as they bobbed toward Hogsmeade.

Neville's grey cap heightened his senses—the first of the Gryffindor caps; wouldn't be much longer now.

The dark one belonging to Draco raised the fur along his back. An assortment of yellow and black caps tempered his impatience. Cedric Diggory and his band of merry followers. Only this time he was with a girl. A girl with long black hair and features to match Cho Chang's if Remus' descriptions were accurate.

They were holding hands.

Padfoot released a soft breath through his nostrils, his disappointment heavy. He hoped Harry hadn't asked her yet.

Worries about Cho and Champions' Balls were whisked away. The orange cap that clashed terribly with Ron's hair came into view next. And then Hermione's cap with its knitted flowers, and between them, Harry.

Wearing no cap at all.

As if pulled by strings, Padfoot stood. His tail swept the ground, no matter that it shouldn't. His nose quivered as he watched the trio passing below him—past the sweets shop, Zonko's and Madame Puddifoot's… even the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione said something to Harry. His eyes darted almost exactly to where Sirius was standing and nodded. But the three didn't veer away, instead continuing on the path that would lead them directly to the cave.

Padfoot's heart thumped against his ribcage as he darted from the cluster of trees he'd been hiding in, and nearly lost his feet. He came to an inelegant halt only steps from the cave. Just as Harry crested the small hill.

Harry stopped walking; his two friends the same.

Padfoot watched his son's chest rise and fall unevenly. Again, Hermione said something, but this time Harry shook his head. Eyes fastened to Padfoot, he began moving forward again.

His friends stopped before they reached the cave, both of them sending small smiles Padfoot's way—even a wave from Hermione.

Padfoot's tail swished a few times as Harry approached. And once he was certain Harry meant to go into the cave, he turned and led the way.

In the dark shadows at the back of the cave, he transformed. When he turned, Harry was still staring.

The green eyes were bright and intent, Harry's cheeks ruddy from the cold. His ears red. Sirius smiled. "Have you a cap?"

Harry's brows scrunched in confusion. "Sorry?"

"A cap, mate," Sirius said, reaching out to cup an icy ear in his fingers. "Your ears are going to freeze straight off. I've never seen you wear one."

Harry shook his head, but didn't dislodge Sirius' hand.

"No, you haven't a cap?" Sirius asked. "Or, no, your ears won't fall off?"

Harry's lips twitched. "Haven't a cap."

Smiling, Sirius squeezed the back of his son's neck and then dug in a pocket, coming up with a bit of parchment. It was easily transfigured into a cap—green to match Harry's eyes, though that was unconsciously done on Sirius' part.

"There we are. And… just a moment," Sirius said after the cap was on Harry's head. He crouched in the farthest corner to search through the sack he carried with him. He straightened once he found several galleons. "Go with Ron and Hermione to Gladrags on your way back to Hogwarts and buy yourself one," he said, jiggling the coins for inspection.

Again, the confused crumple.

"Do you need more?" Sirius asked, turning back for his sack.

"More?"

Harry's croaked echo stopped Sirius mid-turn. He frowned when he saw the distress on his son's face. "What's the matter?"

"Just like that?" Harry demanded hoarsely. "You're just going to give me a handful of galleons?"

"If you need them… I realize you have access to James' vault, but—"

"I shouted at you," Harry protested in that same scratched voice. And then his shoulders slumped, "I figured you would be sore at me."

"Is that why you didn't contact me?" The guilty expression had Sirius soothing, "But you still came here."

Harry swiped a hand over his nose. "I dunno," he mumbled. "I… wanted to see if you were well. Dumbledore said you were…"

"I am," Sirius assured him, just as softly.

Harry studied him for a long moment. "You promised you would stay at Grimmauld Place." There was no heat in the words—fear, Sirius recognized easily.

"And you promised me that you would be safe," he reminded him. "Which, walking into the forbidden forest with a virtual stranger is not." And even though he had no desire to have another row with his son, he said, "You shouldn't be in the forest at all, come to that."

"I know." Harry looked away as he added, "McGonagall almost took away my Hogsmeade privileges. She gave me detention instead."

"Dumbledore didn't think I would like the first choice."

Harry's eyes darted up. "You knew about it?"

"Father's privilege," Sirius said with a small smile. "Or so I assume."

Harry turned away.

Stepping toward him, Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, intending to say something comforting. But before he could say a word, Harry turned his face into Sirius' shoulder.

Surprised, Sirius soothed the hair at the back of Harry's head, his other hand patting its comfort against his back without words. Eventually though, he said quietly, "I thought you were angry with me, you know. I didn't think you would come."

Harry shook his head as he pulled back. "I didn't want you to be here all alone again."

Sirius smiled. "I'm glad you came," he said. But then thought to ask, "You _were_ angry then?"

Shaking his head, Harry crossed his arms. Studying the cave's wall, he said, "I'm sorry I shouted at you." And then very quietly, "I don't know how this is supposed to work."

"I don't think it has to work a certain way. Though, I do think it will work better now that I'm not at Grimmauld Place."

"I won't go out of bounds again," Harry said, grimacing.

"You had best not," Sirius agreed, tapping his son's cheek; Harry flushed. "But I'm not staying here to punish you for that," Sirius added in an easier tone. "You are not safe, and I shouldn't have agreed to stay at my parents' house in the first place."

And as before, Sirius could see the twitch of an argument in Harry's lips, but this time he didn't indulge him. "Beyond that, I simply don't want to be at Grimmauld Place. Some of my reaction to your being in the forest was due to how my old home makes me feel—only some of it, mind. Most of it was fear. And frustration," he conceded.

"I wasn't trying to make you angry," Harry said, sounding every bit as helpless as Sirius felt.

"I know," Sirius said softly. "I'm not angry though, love, I'm frustrated. Worried because you do things that you shouldn't. Frustrated because I don't know how to make you understand that you are more important than any of it."

Harry swallowed.

"I don't want you to think you are not enough on your own," Sirius went on steadily; brought back Harry's chin when he tried to look away. "It's easy to believe that when you hear it every day. From people who are meant to love you."

Sudden tears filled his son's eyes. Sirius tucked his head against his shoulder again. "I'm sorry I wasn't there," he whispered. "I'm sorry they hurt you."

Harry brushed at his eyes. "It's not your fault.

And though that wasn't true, Sirius said, "I'm still sorry."

"It isn't just them," Harry mumbled after a short silence. "When I was in Surrey, I was the freak with magic that nobody wanted and then I went to Diagon Alley and I was the Boy-Who-Lived, who everyone wanted to stare at, or the one that all the other kids feared. It's always something."

"Not with me," Sirius promised. "You are simply Harry, do you understand that?"

Harry nodded.

Sirius squeezed his neck, knowing he didn't really understand it; not yet. "I don't want you to think you can't come to me—whatever happens." He pulled back so that he could see Harry's face. "Even if you're angry with me, or if you think I'm angry. I would prefer to be shouted at than ignored," he added, the hurt of being so, making his chest tight. "Why is that funny?" he asked when Harry smiled.

"Not funny," Harry said quickly. "Hermione said the same thing. I didn't mean to ignore you though, I just…" He shrugged, but Sirius understood well enough.

"I know, it's new," he agreed. "And speaking of Hermione," he shifted the subject and allowed Harry to step back, "why was she activating the mirror for you?"

Again, the telltale flush, though Sirius hadn't a clue what it might be telling tales of.

"I dunno," Harry mumbled. Sirius dearly wanted to press the issue, but before long, Harry would need to return to the castle. And there were other things to discuss.

"You'll tell me when you're ready," he said easily. "Have you asked Cho to the Ball?"

"No," Harry said, looking much too relieved over the dropped topic. "I haven't found the nerve yet."

"I saw her today," Sirius said carefully. "Coming up the lane from Hogwarts. She was with Cedric Diggory." He cleared his throat and added apologetically, "They were holding hands."

Harry deflated. "Oh."

"I'm sorry about that," Sirius offered. "Is there someone else… perhaps, one of the other Gryffindor girls?"

Harry sighed. "Dunno, maybe."

"Is Ron taking Hermione?"

"He hasn't asked anyone either."

"Mm, well, how about Ginny?"

Harry's blank expression said enough.

"One of the other fifth years?"

"I wish I didn't have to take a date."

"Rather dance alone, would you?" Sirius asked with smile.

"I can't dance, remember?"

"Don't worry about that, mate. After we attempt to retrieve Regulus' memories, we are having a lesson."

"We're going to retrieve the memories?" Harry asked, ignoring the rest. "How?"

"Right," Sirius chided himself. "I suppose I forgot to tell you that I moved the Pensieve from my father's study."

"You did? Did you have a go yet?"

"I was waiting for you."

Harry grinned. "When?" he demanded. "Tonight?"

Brushing the cap-flattened fringe aside, Sirius smiled. "If you like."

\--

"I will try it first," Sirius said. "Ready?"

Harry nodded from where he stood beside Dumbledore, fingers tight around his wand. Sirius smiled a little. "Nothing to worry about," he assured. "The Pensieve isn't going to explode."

"Right." Harry relaxed his grip, but only a little.

Sirius folded his amusement away and put his hands on the stone. Just as before, he could feel his brother's magic—his father's overlaying it.

But it was nothing like the study, which was strangled by Orion's magic. Only traces lingered within the Pensieve, and there was nothing it could do without the greater part. Setting aside his wand, Sirius ran his fingers along the runes, reading them nearly without having to think.

The family's dictum had been carved in the stone even before Phineas Nigellus occupied this house.

The symbol for serpent. Lightning beside it. _The serpent shall devour the lightning. Its power is ours, bequeathed to us from Merlin. Beautiful, noble and pure, we are the House of Black._

The ancient magic tingled beneath his fingertips as he stroked the runes. The defining words rose to his lips and he spoke the words in a whisper. A soft glow rose from the stone.

Beautiful, noble and pure…

"Pulchra, nobilis, pur… pulchra, noblilis, pur…" Over and over the whispered words passed his lips, and were submerged almost immediately by the weight of his father's magic.

But then, as his breaths were coming in stilted puffs, lighter magic joined the three Blacks. Magic which didn't belong and yet fit perfectly. Foreign and remembered, two threads melded into one. Familiar to Sirius—as familiar as Harry's voice as it joined the chant, "Pulchra, nobilis, pur… pulchra, nobilis, pur."

The darkest magic crackled, rose from the others; forced out by the Blacks' most powerful magic. Sirius drew a deep breath and swept it away, reveling as the darkness faded from the rest. He opened his eyes and found Harry on the other side of the Pensieve, his eyes bright with wonder.

"It worked…"

And indeed, the memories—viscous silver and no longer tainted—filled the stone bowl.

"That was brilliant," Harry breathed. "I didn't know magic could feel like that."

Sirius let his breath out slowly, let his heart rate return to normal. "It is often just like that with familial rituals." He glanced to Dumbledore. "I could feel Rigel's magic."

"You could?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Sirius answered. "It's bound with yours, not separate."

"How do you mean?"

Sirius shook his head, trying to understand it himself. "I could feel your magic when you touched the Pensieve. But I could feel Rigel's as well. Both of them are familiar to me. As one though, not two distinct signatures as mine and yours are. Or yours and Dumbledore's. Which means," Sirius added to his very confused offspring, "that the magic has been part of you all along."

"But Regulus' letter said it had to be activated."

"Regulus was expecting Rigel's magic to go to Sirius," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "To a fully mature man, not a fetus inside its mother's womb."

Harry wrinkled his nose.

"It is where you were, mate," Sirius said with a small smile. "I talked to you several times when you were in there, you know."

Harry stared at him from under furrowed brows. "You talked to me?"

"To your mum's belly," Sirius corrected. "James and I both did. She wanted you to know our voices."

"What did you say?" Harry asked, his expression both amused and horrified.

"Hm, told you to hurry along several times. So that I could teach you to fly. I was very impatient back then."

"Only back then?" Harry asked with a challenging eyebrow.

"Oh, your father has made remarkable progress in that area, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Though he did start further behind than most."

Harry grinned.

"These aspersions against my character are very amusing," Sirius said with a feigned frown, "and possibly accurate, but we do have memories to explore. Unless... you want me to go by myself?"

Biting back his laughter, Harry shook his head. Sirius favored him with what he hoped was an appropriately stern glare and gestured to the Pensieve. "Stay close now."

"Can you actually be separated in a memory?"

With a light cuff to the back of his son's head, Sirius hushed him, "Quite enough of your cheek. Ready?"

Not at all chastised, Harry nodded, and together, they stuck their faces into the swirling silver.


	13. Within the Mournful Merriment

When the disorientation reorganized, they were still in the library. A cleaner, busier library.

Kreacher was there, moving up and down the rows of books, creating neat stacks along the floor, sending a few to the desk. With a youth in his step that was long gone in their present. "Kreacher is finished," he said, ears quivering.

Sirius and Harry followed his gaze. Sirius' throat tightened as he saw his little brother for the first time in nearly twenty years. "Is that…?" Harry asked.

Sirius nodded, gripping Harry's wrist simply because he needed to do something.

Regulus looked up from the scroll he was reading. "I'm ready," he said. "Have you the text?"

"Kreacher has the text written in the hand of your ancestor," Kreacher told him. He scurried forward, hands extending the tattered book to his master. "That is the one Master wishes?"

"Thank you… Yes," Regulus whispered as he ran his fingers over the first page, "this is it. The spell to bring Rigel's magic from within the house to me. We haven't much time."

Kreacher's ears began to quiver. Regulus' smile was pained as he crouched to the elf's level. "You must be brave, Kreacher. I cannot remain as a servant to the dark lord, not after…" Regulus shook his head.

"Master cannot kill children," Kreacher whispered. The words were clearly Regulus', and the elf was trying to convince himself.

Beside Sirius, Harry let out a quiet, distressed sound. Sirius put an arm round his shoulders but didn't take his eyes from the scene.

"I did not realize," Regulus said quietly, "what it would mean to be in his service. I can't—" He swallowed and said instead, "This is the only way, Kreacher, and I need your help."

"Kreacher lives to serve." No sarcasm in the pledge; only pain.

"I know." Regulus tried to smile. "When this is over, after we return to the cave—and it is finished—I want you to hide this book, and the scroll—save them for Sirius. He will need them to understand."

"Kreacher will obey."

"And once I've cursed the Horcrux, you must take it to the dark lord immediately. Do not remain there once he has it, or allow him to see you, or else he will kill you, do you understand?"

The elf nodded.

"Once he realizes I have taken the Horcrux, he will be furious, so you must not remain. And don't give it to him directly, but wait until he touches it or the curse won't mingle with his magic. It's the only way to destroy all the Horcruxes at once—we are cursing his very soul, Kreacher."

"Kreacher understands."

"I will need you to take my memories of this as well," Regulus went on steadily. "Deliver them to Sirius. He is the only one who can activate Rigel's magic, thereby finishing the curse. He must say the same words, reverse them, _mea est vest rum_ and pledge his loyalty to our House—to our family. As soon as I perform this ritual—" He gestured to the book in his hand. "—Rigel's magic will no longer be embedded within these walls. Our greatest magic will be Sirius'. He will be the only Black remaining—Rigel's last living descendent."

"Master Black will not like this," Kreacher whispered.

"Sirius will do what he must," Regulus told him positively. "He recognized the dark lord's evil before I did. He knew all along," he added in a strained voice, "that blood purity does not make one superior. He _will_ ," Regulus assured the sceptical elf. "When he learns what I have done… perhaps he won't hate us…"

"Master Black should not hate Master," Kreacher said vehemently.

Regulus' throat bobbed. "No, Kreacher, he has every right… But maybe now… perhaps he will be proud of me…"

Sirius' own throat throbbed painfully at his brother's words.

"He has always been the strong one," Regulus said softly. "And I know he will do this because it will mean the dark lord's death. He has more at stake than I do. And whatever he needs Kreacher, you must help him. He is your master now."

And even though Kreacher shook his head in great agitation, he breathed the same words of loyalty.

"You have always been a loyal elf, Kreacher. And a fine friend. Are you ready?"

Kreacher pulled himself a little taller, but the pride was marred by the quiver in his lips. "Kreacher is ready to serve."

Sirius and Harry watched as Regulus brushed his fingers over the delicate scroll—so old they could see through it in patches. "Vestrum est mea… pulchra, nobilis, pur… ancient magic, Kreacher. The most powerful we have." He wasn't looking at Kreacher though, lost to his motives.

Sirius drew in a thin breath as his brother touched the nearest wall, bowed his head to rest against the ancient magic embedded there. Sirius could see the magic embracing him, making him whole as it had always done for the other Blacks, and never could for Sirius.

No matter how many times he had tried to let his family's magic enfold him, it roiled through him instead, chafing him, strangling him.

But Regulus' breaths became calmer, more ordered. His fingertips ran down the wall as he knelt. His whispered words caressed the air, and brought a soft glow beneath his fingers. "Vestrum est mea," he called to the magic. Yours is mine. "Most ancient and noble," he persuaded it. "Antecessoris… sancti, maxime reuerendi."

"What does that mean?" Harry whispered.

"Revered ancestor, most respected," Sirius echoed, the words catching in his throat without permission.

"Vestrum est mea," Regulus whispered. "… est mea… per me ad ultimum…"

"Through me… to the one who shall save us," Sirius said hoarsely, translating the words for Harry—and for himself. "The last of us…" he went on softly as Regulus' words flowed around them, through the house and back into Regulus' core. The room was glowing, pulsing with Rigel's magic as Regulus pulled it free.

Kreacher had fallen beside his master, his whole body trembling—arms reaching out as if he wanted to help. But Regulus did not need help. The dark mists gathered around, enveloping him as the words came faster and faster.

"est mea…" he whispered. "…per me ultimum!"

And with a hiss and crackle that shook the room, the dark mist was gone, leaving Regulus slumped against the wall. He smiled at his very worried elf. "It is done," he breathed. "The magic belongs to Sirius now… to the last in our line. Perhaps now he will find something within to be proud of."

Sirius swallowed hard.

As Kreacher scrambled to help him stand, the scene changed. Harry gripped Sirius' sleeve as they shifted together. And then the wind was howling in their ears, whipping through their hair.

"Where…" Harry's question died on his tongue. They were in a cave, on an island of rocks surrounded by a churning sea. Regulus and Kreacher were staring at a large basin filled with clear liquid.

"Kreacher will drink the liquid," Kreacher said quietly, his eyes blinking rapidly up at Regulus.

"No, Kreacher." Regulus shook his head, his eyes on the basin. "I cannot ask you to do that. This is my decision. When we came here before, I told you as much. I know you did not forget."

Kreacher cast his eyes to the rocks. "Kreacher did not forget."

"And you have done everything I have asked of you," Regulus said softly. "It is time now for me to do something worthwhile. To make amends for the rest."

Again, the elf began to shake. With a deep, rattling breath, Regulus dipped an ornate cup into the liquid. He closed his eyes and took a drink.

Sirius couldn't look away, his mouth dry and his chest tight. After the fourth cupful, when Regulus' fingers lost their grip, Harry took Sirius' hand, the smaller one giving strength the only way it knew how.

Sirius' eyes filled with tears as Kreacher cradled Regulus' head. He palmed Harry's head then, and pulled him into his chest; he didn't need to see this. Harry didn't resist.

And then Sirius watched his baby brother take his last breath. He closed his eyes as Kreacher began to wail, bowed his head and hugged his son tightly.

\--

"That was most instructive," Dumbledore said as he emerged from the memories sometime later. "Though, I am very sorry you had to see that, Sirius."

Sirius shook his head dismissively and didn't reply. Harry glanced at him, as he had been since Dumbledore took his turn with the Pensieve. Neither of them had said a word, Sirius because he couldn't and Harry because he was too busy watching Sirius.

"I wonder if the memories are incomplete," Dumbledore went on. "There was no explanation of the curse, and we still have no clear reason why Harry was able to defeat Voldemort. Though I do believe Rigel's magic became part of Harry's own the moment it found Harry within Lily's womb. I don't think it ever needed to be activated in that sense."

Sirius found his voice, "But it still doesn't explain how Harry was able to defeat Voldemort. Reg…" He had to swallow, but his brother's name still came out hoarsely. "Regulus cursed that necklace."

"Yes," Dumbledore murmured. "The Horcrux."

"What is a Horcrux?" Harry asked.

The headmaster frowned, and in a voice so quiet that Sirius wondered if he was afraid the walls would hear him, explained.

"But that's…" Harry made a face. "Voldemort really was mad, wasn't he?"

"He wanted to live forever," Dumbledore corrected. "Though, perhaps he was mad as well."

Something about the way the headmaster's voice pitched made Sirius frown. "Did you know about the Horcruxes?"

Dumbledore hesitated, but answered quietly, "I suspected Tom might have known about the spell."

"And did you suspect there were still bits of him floating about?" Sirius asked sharply.

"It was a notion only," Dumbledore told him, though there was apology in his tone. "I admit I am relieved to discover the true intent of Regulus' curse—to destroy the Horcrux Voldemort created. Further relieved as it is obvious that Rigel's magic was always at Harry's disposal. Harry has always been an exceptionally powerful child."

"But even if I've had his magic all along," Harry said. "Does that mean the curse was activated as well?"

"Now that, I do not know. Though, I do have a theory," Dumbledore added thoughtfully, "and it involves your mother."

"Mum?"

"Lily?" Sirius echoed. "How could it?"

"Your mother," Dumbledore said in his soft voice to Harry, "was a very brave woman. She sacrificed her life so that you might live, and when she did, she transferred powerful magic to you. Magic which afforded you great protection throughout the rest of your life." He explained the blood wards to Harry—Petunia's role—again with apology, and Harry only nodded with tight lips. "And I believed for many years, that it was your mother's magic which shielded you from Voldemort, as I told you, so that the Killing Curse rebounded and killed Voldemort instead."

"But it was Rigel's magic," Harry said quietly, nodding. He touched his scar.

"It protected you, yes. But your mother's magic protected you as well."

"With the blood magic?"

"Yes, but in order for the blood magic to have worked all those years," Dumbledore agreed, "there must have been an initial protection."

"Are you saying you think Lily's sacrifice activated the curse?" Sirius asked.

"Regulus did intend the magic to be activated, the curse along with it, by you. However, since Voldemort did not die until after the Horcrux was delivered by Kreacher, it is likely that the curse was not activated until he attempted to kill Harry."

"With Lily's sacrifice adding enough power," Sirius said slowly.

"The words Regulus used," Dumbledore reminded them both, "mea est vestrum—"

"Mine to yours," Sirius finished. "That was Lily's intent when she added her magic to Harry's…"

"So Mum…?" Harry's question dangled, his voice pained; Sirius put an arm over his shoulders.

"Her sacrifice activated Regulus' curse, and made Rigel's magic even more powerful," Sirius said softly. "Powerful enough to kill him without using the words Regulus' intended."

With his lips mashed together, Harry nodded.

Sirius pulled him in sideways for a hug, his hand cupping the side of his head. He saw the headmaster slip from the room in silence. "What are you thinking?" Sirius asked.

"Dunno," Harry mumbled. "… ever since Dumbledore explained it to me, that Mum… that her magic—"

"That she died to save you?"

"Yeah, and I know it's silly but I felt like she was a part of me, you know?"

"And you were disappointed when you learned it was our family's magic that saved you that night?"

Harry pulled back a bit, his eyes uncertain. Sirius smiled, pulled him back in.

"I understand the feeling, I promise."

"You do?"

"Perfectly. I was relieved when we found out your scar was a mark of Rigel's power. Because," Sirius added when Harry squinted up at him, "you were protected because you are my son."

"You felt less guilty, do you mean? About my dad?"

"Yes," Sirius admitted and was grateful that Harry didn't make any signs that the words worried him.

"Do you think you'll always feel guilty?" he asked.

"I think the feeling has more to do with the fact that I was never able to admit it to him. I don't feel guilty that you're my son—I'm too happy about that."

Harry smiled.

\--

After Dumbledore volunteered to have a go at finding Regulus' portrait, Sirius brought Harry to the sitting room, which boasted considerably more space—and his mother's ancient victrola.

"Now," said Sirius as the music began to play, "if I were your date…" He took Harry's hand and brought it to his waist. "You put your hand here, in the middle of the girl's back."

Harry's cheeks immediately lit on fire. "Er… I don't think—"

"Hush," Sirius instructed. "She places her hand on your shoulder like this. Now take my other hand, yes like that, sort of curl your fingers around hers… there we are. And then, you begin with your left foot, your partner with her right. The first step you take, not out to the side like this, but round your partner."

The pink cheeks remained, but after a moment, Harry's lips were set in concentration, his brow puckered as he mimicked Sirius' feet. "Like this?" he asked.

"Exactly so, and then it's her turn to step round you, see? Your right hand—right here against my back—the hand guides her, leads her as they say and she will follow your lead, so confidence is the thing. Even if you haven't a clue what you're doing, don't let her know that."

Nodding solemnly, Harry took a few more steps and Sirius dutifully followed his lead, demonstrating when Harry faltered, praising him heftily when the steps were correct. "Well done, yes, you're doing beautifully."

Beneath the concentration, Harry grinned.

"Turn with confidence as well," Sirius told him, grinning himself now. "Just as important. One complete turn in two measures, hear the counts in the music? Very good."

"Ron would die if he saw me." But the notion only made Harry's grin widen. "Neville will love it."

"The two of you can demonstrate to the other boys," Sirius said as the piece ended in the middle of one their turns.

"Not unless I lead," Harry said seriously.

Sirius laughed. "You're quite good at it."

"You certainly have your father's flair," Dumbledore's voice interrupted them with a chuckle. Harry laughed with him and stepped back.

"That wasn't so awful, I suppose."

"Not so awful?" Sirius challenged. "What sort of compliment is that for your date?"

Harry nudged him with an elbow. Smiling, Sirius turned to Dumbledore. "You didn't find the portrait, I assume?"

"No," Dumbledore sighed. "I did however, explain to Kreacher that there is a spell to force a house-elf to accept clothes. He is contemplating my veracity."

"Is that really a spell?" Harry asked.

"Mm, yes, though I do not know that it would work with Kreacher."

"I thought of that as well," Sirius said, "but I think his family has been with ours too long. For as long as there has been a Black in this house."

"But then, doesn't Kreacher know it wouldn't work?"

"Well, I don't know for certain it wouldn't work," Sirius said with a smile. "And neither does he."

"What would he do though?" Harry asked, a worried line marring his forehead. "He doesn't have anywhere else to go."

"We won't do it," Sirius assured him, though of course, he hadn't any true objection beyond Harry's worry. "But it is a good threat."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "He does not wish to leave either your mother or Regulus. He is still very devoted to them."

Harry still frowned over the idea of Sirius being left out of that equation, but Sirius had long since come to terms with the little elf's bile.

"What if I try?" Harry asked, his eyes going to Sirius alone. "He doesn't think I betrayed him, does he? Unless you think it isn't important to find the portrait, since we saw the memories."

Sirius shook his head. "I think Dumbledore was right—the memories weren't complete, or Kreacher didn't collect them correctly."

"I should like to know more about the curse he cast on the Horcrux."

And Sirius still wanted very much to thank Regulus—to speak with him one more time.

"I could try," Harry said again. Sirius studied the half-suppressed eagerness in his posture. And because he understood better how important this new family was to him, Sirius nodded.

"If he becomes difficult," he warned, "the conversation ends." Any signs of violence at all, though oddly the elf hadn't yet done anything worse than a few insults. Even his insults were pathetic.

Harry agreed with a nod, and Sirius called for Kreacher, again when there was no answer. But finally, the elf apparated into the room with a loud pop. "Master Black summoned Kreacher?"

Sirius caught Harry's eye and nodded toward the elf. Harry shifted as he faced Kreacher. "Erm… I was wondering—" He stopped talking abruptly as Kreacher swung his head to stare at him. Sirius gave his shoulder a comforting pat and Harry went on with more confidence, "We were able to retrieve Regulus' memories and—"

"Master Harry saw Master Regulus' memories?" Kreacher interrupted sharply.

"Sirius as well," Harry said quickly, darted a glance at Dumbledore but did not include his name. "Since Rigel's magic came to me—"

Kreacher shook his head, agitated. "The magic of the ancestor was not meant for Master Harry."

"Well, but it did come to me… I'll show you if you like. My scar—" He knelt down and the elf skittered back, again attempting to protect his head. And just as he had watched Sirius do, Harry said quietly, "I'm not going to hurt you. I won't come any closer. I want to show you my scar… see it? It's just like the family's crest—the lightning."

Kreacher squinted, not coming closer but stretching his neck out as far as it would go. "The magic was meant for Master Black."

"I know," Harry agreed softly, letting him examine the scar further. "But Regulus didn't know my mum was pregnant—he didn't know that there would be another Black in the line."

"Master Harry accuses Master Regulus of making a mistake?" An indignant quiver this time—and sadness.

"No, he didn't make a mistake. He saved my life. And his spell defeated Voldemort just like he wanted."

Kreacher took a step, his ears flattened against his skull. "Master Regulus did as he said he must do? The dark lord is destroyed?"

Harry nodded.

"But Master Black did not activate the curse." An accusation, though with uncertainty as Kreacher glanced at Sirius.

"The curse was activated by Harry," Sirius said, purposely not mentioning Lily. "Rigel's magic was activated on its own because Harry wasn't yet born when he received it."

Kreacher looked between them, slowly, unblinking. "Master Regulus was most brave."

"Yes," Sirius agreed, the word catching as he lived his brother's death again. "Voldemort is dead," he said carefully so that this time the elf could appreciate it. "And Regulus was brave. I'm very proud of him."

Kreacher stood to his full height, his chest expanding with the words. "Master Black is proud of Master Regulus?"

Sirius had to swallow twice before he could answer, "Very."

Kreacher's face lightened several years, and then just as quickly, his features crumpled and he smashed his fists into his eyes. "No, no, no, Kreacher has betrayed Master Regulus!"

Sirius caught Harry as he reared back and lost his balance. Dropping to his knees, Dumbledore trapped the elf's fists, eliciting a howl of despair. "Sirius, order him to stop!"

Sirius raised his voice to command, "Enough, Kreacher!"

Kreacher stopped flailing; the wail broke off as well.

"How have you betrayed Regulus?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Kreacher's wasted frame shook. "Kreacher has betrayed Master," he whimpered. He turned his head to stare at Harry. "... must not kill children…"

Sirius' harsh breath made the elf blink rapidly. Dumbledore cut Sirius off, asking sharply, "What does that mean?"

"What have you done?" Sirius demanded, dropping down to one knee when the elf simply stared at him with wide eyes.

"Kreacher believed Master Black betrayed Master—"

Sirius grabbed his arms, ignored the convulsion. "What have you done? Answer me!"

"Kreacher—" He gulped, his paper thin skin stretched nearly to breaking as he swallowed. "—agreed to help Master Black's father."

"Help him do _what?_ " Sirius didn't care that he was shouting—or that he was shaking the hated elf.

"Sirius." Dumbledore moved him aside, making Sirius snarl, but the headmaster ignored him to come eyeball to eyeball with the old servant. "Kreacher," he said softly, "I must insist you tell me what you mean. Harry has fulfilled your master's wishes—he has done as Regulus desired. If you have done something to harm him…"

"Master Regulus will be displeased," Kreacher finished, trembling so much his teeth were chattering. "Master Black's father will return the ancestor's magic to the House of Black—to its rightful place."

"Shit!" Sirius surged to his feet. Not waiting to hear the rest of Kreacher's words, he took Harry's arm and pushed him toward the door. Dumbledore had already straightened. "Get him out of here!"

"But—" Harry's protest was cut off as Dumbledore gripped his arm.

"Don't argue," Sirius ordered fiercely. "Go with Dumbledore. Now!"

Darting several glances over his shoulder, Harry obeyed, allowing the headmaster to pull him out of the room. Sprinting in the opposite direction, Sirius took the corridors' sharp turns at dangerous speeds, but they were familiar enough that he didn't slow. Took the stairs two a time—both flights.

His rage was fully articulate by the time he burst into the study. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled over the crash of the door as it slammed against the wall. "You haven't any right to strip that magic from Harry!"

Orion narrowed his eyes. "The elf is disloyal."

"To you," Sirius spat. "Not to Regulus. That is Harry's magic, and you have no choice but to accept it."

His father's portrait smiled down at him. "No, I do not believe I will," he said quietly. "That magic belongs to the Blacks."

"He is—"

"The Blacks," Orion said harshly. "Not to some half-blood cur you sired."

"Don't speak of him that way—"

Orion ploughed over him, his words high and manic, "After one mistaken night with that Mudblood whore—"

"Don't call her that!" Sirius said furiously. "She was a thousand times better than you, better than any of you!"

"Her blood was not pure!" his father shouted right back. "She has contaminated us! _You_ have contaminated us! You are nothing, do you understand that? You have destroyed what we are, what we must be and I will not allow that bastard child to steal what is rightfully mine! He has no right to it, do you hear me! He is not a Black, no more than you and I will take the magic back, no matter what the consequences to your filthy mongrel son—"

"Incendio!"

The rest of Orion's words were ripped away as bright flames ignited the canvas.

"What are you doing? Sirius! No—"

And just as if his father were flesh and blood, Orion's mouth stretched wide in fright—in horror.

He tried to escape the flames, perhaps tried to flee the frame, but it was too late. Sirius' spell was too powerful, his casting too precise.

The frame ignited as well, trapping the flailing portrait inside. "Nooooo!"

Sirius' backwards steps were unintentional. He moved, his legs no longer in his control, with his wand trembling in his fist; still aimed at his father. He stumbled back until he was no longer in the office, watched as the flames jumped from the frame to the walls, to the tidy papers organized decades before.

The hiss of dying magic brought shame to Sirius' chest, made his blood cold but he didn't stop it. He stood outside the study, watching the flames burn every last trace of his father from the house. And only when they threatened to consume him as well, did he breathe hoarsely, "Aguamenti…"

The flames paid no mind.

"Sirius!" Remus' voice, frantic and loud, summoned him from downstairs, but Sirius didn't look away from the fire. Pounding footsteps echoed up to him, and then a harsh, "What the hell?"

A rough hand yanked him from the door, from the heat licking his face. Sirius stumbled, unwilling to protest.

"Aguamenti!" Remus shouted, the command fervently meant where Sirius has been lacking.

Through dull eyes, Sirius watched the water pour from Remus' wand—the deluge putting out the flames.

Sirius gripped the door's edge, his stomach twisting tighter and his breath coming in broken patches as the water dripped down the mangled, charred frame. Sickened, he stared at the black, sopping mess.

He stared blankly at Remus when the other man gripped his shoulders, shaking him a little. "What happened? Dumbledore sent a Patronus, telling me to come immediately. Is Harry hurt?"

Numb, Sirius shook his head. "My father," he croaked, but then couldn't go on. More footsteps clipped the stairs. Sirius pulled away from Remus, the dread dissipating, only to spike into worry when he saw the headmaster alone.

"Harry?" he breathed.

"He is safe in my office," Dumbledore said briskly. "Fawkes is guarding the Floo. Are you…" He blinked in stupefaction at the burnt study.

The sick feeling spread deeper. "He meant to strip Rigel's magic," Sirius said; the words shook. "Didn't care…" Didn't care if he killed Harry. Gritting his teeth did nothing to stop the heat climbing his throat. He wound his fingers in his hair and tried to steady his breathing.

The walls were radiating their displeasure, mourning the loss of Orion's considerable magic.

"Your father's magic is gone?" Dumbledore asked quietly. Sirius could only nod. Remus was gripping his arm again. Painfully, but Sirius didn't care. Dumbledore's quiet voice said something else, but he didn't listen.

Footsteps retreated down the stairs. And after a moment, Sirius followed the pressure of his friend's fingers. "Sit," Remus murmured, pushing him down by a shoulder. Sirius obeyed that as well, not caring one way or another as he stared at the shell of his father's magic.

"It's all right, Padfoot," Remus whispered. "He was just a painting. And if he meant to hurt Harry…"

Sirius nodded, because what else was there to do? The words were too hollow, his chest felt like he might collapse.

More footsteps, but Sirius didn't look up this time. Remus rose to his feet, went down the stairs as well; another set shuffled closer. Quieter feet—unsure. Sirius looked up, swallowing laboriously when he saw Harry staring at the destruction. After a long, painful moment, Harry turned.

Sirius had no idea what his son saw as he gazed at him. But a moment later it didn't matter. Silently, Harry sat beside him. Fitting himself under Sirius' arm, he put his arms around him and squeezed tightly.


	14. Waits an Reasonable Injustice

Sirius didn't know how long they sat there, didn't much care to do anything but listen to his own heart as it thumped. It was just a painting, he knew that quite well. Just as Remus had said. But Remus didn't understand—couldn't understand—that magic was more than flesh and blood; it was continuous, uninterrupted, a trail of souls stretching through centuries. And Sirius had just erased every trace of his father.

It was as if Orion Black had never existed.

"You shouldn't stay here again," Harry said; the words were muffled in Sirius' shirt.

"No," Sirius agreed softly. His fingers continued to comb against the pile of his son's hair. "I won't."

"His magic is gone now, isn't it?"

Surprised that Harry understood, he answered, "Yes."

"Kreacher must have known it might kill you to take the magic away," Harry said after another silent interlude. "He thought you had Rigel's magic, didn't he?"

It wasn't really a question.

"He thought I had betrayed Regulus. The ultimate sin, do you see?"

Harry didn't answer immediately and when he did, his voice was raw. "It was an awful thing to do."

Not as awful as it could have been. "He told us though," Sirius said, not wanting Harry to see the worst in the elf, though he had no idea why. "When he realized it was you that my father would be harming."

But the words had the opposite effect. Harry pushed away to gape up at him. "It isn't right," he said, on the cusp of anger; teetering over the edge and finally toppling all the way over. "He's horrible. You don't deserve that."

Sirius smiled, the words buoying in an entirely foreign way. "He is horrible, but he doesn't think the same way we do. I'm as good as an enemy to the people he devoted his life to. Well," he amended, "not to Regulus any longer." He paused to consider that. "I don't think."

Harry frowned at him. "It still isn't right."

"I know," Sirius sighed. He pulled Harry in again to drop a rough kiss to the top of his head. "I love you, do you know that?"

"I know," Harry said, his voice still heavy with his irritation. "I love you too, but I still think Kreacher is awful."

Sirius didn't reply, couldn't really. Reaching back through the years, he tried to remember if anyone had ever made the same claim. James, he thought, in a "We love you, you berk" sort of declaration after he'd been disowned.

Harry was studying him through thoughtful eyes. Sirius cleared his throat, smiled a little. "I suppose Remus and Dumbledore are waiting for us."

Harry nodded; they stood together, brushing off their seats before turning. Sirius sidestepped before they reached the stairs; he didn't look into the study as he closed the burnt door.

They were quiet as they went downstairs, though it didn't matter. Walburga's portrait was open to the elements. But for once, her painted lips were closed. She watched them pass, one hand clutched at her throat and the other at the frame, as if she would fall otherwise.

Sirius dropped his eyes, her accusation burning a new hole in his stomach. He walked faster; Harry's feet matched his. They were greeted by Dumbledore and Remus, both solemn in the kitchen.

Remus smiled at them, his eyes asking for confirmation that all was well. The important things were, so Sirius answered with a small smile.

"I could not find Kreacher," Dumbledore told him.

"He's hiding," Sirius said, shrugging. And he's welcome to it. He didn't care if he saw the elf ever again.

"Shall we return to my office then?" Dumbledore asked, his voice carefully cheerful. "You as well, Sirius, and then Fawkes will take you to Hogsmeade." He ushered Sirius and Harry through first, followed quickly by Remus and then the headmaster himself. "A restorative spot of tea?" he inquired. "And perhaps we should discuss a training schedule for Harry before you leave, Sirius."

Sirius didn't have a chance to answer. From high above their heads, the voice of Phineas Nigellus scattered over them, "You have committed a grievous crime against us, Sirius."

All of them raised their heads, Sirius' jaw tensing as he met his distant grandfather's eyes.

"I did not believe even you were capable of such a despicable act," Phineas said; his voice was eerily calm. "Taking your father's magic from us is unforgivable."

Sirius' hands were in fists at his sides. Dumbledore spoke before he could, "Orion's attempt to murder Harry is equally unforgivable, Phineas. Did you know about his plan?"

Phineas straightened is shoulders. "It would not have killed him."

"It _would_ have," Sirius spoke, his rage reforming. "You know it would have."

"Do not take that tone with me, young man. It was not my plan."

"You suggested it weeks ago!"

"It would have killed him," Dumbledore said, stepping in front of Sirius. "Rigel's magic is a part of Harry's—it always has been."

Phineas narrowed his eyes, and Dumbledore was forced to explain that the magic had needed no activation—that Rigel's magic and Harry's were one.

"That is surprising news," Phineas allowed without weight. "But you are fool, Sirius, if you believe you are justified in destroying your father. It was unnecessary."

"Don't call him that," Harry interrupted loudly. "He had no choice."

"There is always a choice," Phineas said sharply. "And because of Sirius', we are no longer whole."

"We haven't been whole since Rigel stole Merlin's magic," Sirius matched his tone. "He was the one who tainted us—"

"How dare you speak of our most revered ancestor—"

"That is enough," Dumbledore ordered. "Sirius warned you that he would protect his son. It was Orion's choice that left your house bereft of one of its pieces. Sirius did what he had to do, and that is an end to the matter, Phineas."

Phineas narrowed his eyes once more. "Perhaps here, Albus, but do not presume to dictate of what I may speak in my own home."

"As you say," Dumbledore allowed with a nod. "But I have no doubt the same end will befall anyone who makes another attempt to take Rigel's magic from Harry."

"Obviously," Phineas said sourly. "We have lost enough." With his beady eyes trained on Sirius, he said, "It is a pity Regulus followed in your footsteps." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the frame.

\--

Padfoot's eyes came fully open as his name was called. Not Harry's voice, and not Hermione's either. Ron.

He transformed immediately and said before the ginger boy could slip out of the mirror's frame, "Does the mirror not respond to Harry?"

"Er… I… Harry's here, I dunno."

The reflection shifted crazily before it settled on Harry. "Ginny's going to be my date," he said before Sirius could form a sentence. "Ow, you git," Harry muttered to someone out of view—Ron, presumably. "Right, she isn't my date," Harry added, rolling his eyes. "But she is coming with me."

"Is she?" Sirius asked, trying not to smile. "When did you ask her?"

"This morning. Thanks for the idea. She didn't giggle like all the other girls, she just said yes. Every time we walked by, they were staring at us—"

"At you," Ron countered.

"It was embarrassing," Harry said to Sirius. "Ron is taking Parvati. He asked Hermione, but—"

"How can she go with that grouchy git! He's seventeen, and he's a plonker, with his stupid hair and his stupid Quidditch!"

Harry sighed. "Hermione isn't speaking to Ron," he said as an aside to Sirius.

"I'm not speaking to _her!_ "

"Right. Belt up, would you?"

"Fine," Ron grumbled. There was a general slamming of things that sounded like books—or feet against chairs and then it was silent. Sirius grimaced.

"A rather unpleasant day?" he asked.

Harry matched his grimace. "How are you?" he asked.

"Well enough," Sirius answered. "And perfectly safe."

"Do you have enough food though? Not rats."

"No rats," Sirius said with a quiet chuckle. "You just saw me two days ago, mate, and I was fit, wasn't I?"

"I suppose so," Harry's grumble was a fine imitation of Ron's. "Are you coming tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, I'll be in Dumbledore's office after breakfast."

"Is Professor Lupin coming?"

"Not so early, just to return with me to Hogsmeade, but yes he'll be there. And it's Remus."

Harry nodded, but his mind was with their lessons. "I'm doing well with the spells, do you think?"

"You are a wonderful duelist," Sirius assured him. "A few more lessons and you'll be able to knock me flat, I think."

Harry smiled. "Doubt that," he said cheerfully. But then with a small frown he said, "There's only two weeks left."

Twelve days until the ball. And the last task two days after that.

"You are already prepared," Sirius promised. "Though hopefully, you won't need to be."

Harry's frown was dubious. "It isn't going to work. I mean, Dumbledore said from the beginning it was a binding contract."

"Perhaps, but no one ever decided afterward not to compete. And you didn't put your name in the cup."

"Yeah, but sometimes magic is useless, remember?"

"Yes," Sirius sighed, "I remember all too well."

Repeated—and very loud—thumps made Harry frown again. "Hey!" a voice called. "Why is the door locked!"

"Seamus," Harry said out of the side of his mouth.

"Keep your pants on!" Ron shouted back.

"Let me in or I'll hang _yours_ from the astronomy tower!"

Trying not to laugh, Sirius said, "You best let him in."

"All right," Harry agreed reluctantly. "After breakfast tomorrow, yeah?"

"In Dumbledore's office," Sirius agreed.

"Oh, and Ron's coming with me. He'll go spare if I leave him here to stew about Hermione—"

"I am not stewing about Hermione!"

Harry winced as a bundle of socks ricocheted off his ear.

"Let us _in_ , you wanker!" More thuds.

"I better go," Harry muttered. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye, mate."

Sirius' smile faded as he was left in silence. The days were longer now, courtesy of the approaching solstice. Longer and almost more insufferable than Grimmauld Place had ever been.

He had been quite honest with Harry—rats were no longer on the menu. Not with Remus bringing rations on a nearly daily basis. But how long could that last? He would never say as much to Harry, it would be too painful, but he knew in his heart that this was his new permanence.

It was all he would ever have.

\--

"Lock your elbow," Sirius advised, coming round to jiggle the joint in question. "The tension maximizes the strength of your casting."

"Right."

"A wider arc." Sirius demonstrated, nodding in approval of Harry's mimicry. "Lovely. Try it again."

Harry pursed his lips, shuffled his feet forward and back to judge the distance. When he was ready, he took his stance. Sirius nodded, his wand out and ready to defend. Harry pursed his lips as he always did, giving Sirius warning—they'd need to work on that—

"Pulsus!"

An invisible fist punched Sirius in the chest. He was lifted off his feet and thrown backward with such force that he slammed into the bookshelves behind.

"Dad!"

As Dumbledore's ancient collection of books rained down on his head, most likely causing concussion, Sirius smiled stupidly.

Harry, followed closely by Dumbledore and Ron, dropped beside him. All three frantically swept the heavy books aside. "I'm sorry!" Harry exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

"That was wicked," Ron said cheerfully, still plucking books away.

"Sirius?" Dumbledore queried, waving wrinkled fingers in front of his eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Sirius answered, though it came out something like a groan.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked quickly. He was twisting his wand round and round in his fingers. "I'm sorry," he said miserably.

"Oy, don't apologize," Sirius said, smiling. "That's what the spell was meant to do." Harry took his arm as he pushed himself up a little, dislodging several of the larger books from his legs.

"You'll have massive bruises," Ron told him helpfully.

"Shut up," Harry ordered, frowning.

"Let us see if you can stand, shall we?" Dumbledore interjected. "The books will wait."

"I'm not hurt," Sirius assured Harry, who was fumbling to put away his wand and looking generally distressed. "It was my own fault," he said once he was upright. "I wasn't expecting it, and it is never wise to underestimate an opponent."

"No one ever expects to have a bookcase topple onto them though, do they?"

"I believe the elves just delivered chocolate scones, Ronald," Dumbledore intervened again before Harry could tell his friend to shut it again. "Would you care for several?"

Like a puppy after its mother, Ron trotted in the wake of the headmaster's opal-edged robes.

Sirius turned back to Harry, but couldn't quite cover a variety of winces in time.

"I shouldn't have put so much force behind the spell," Harry said. "I'm really sorry."

"You are meant to make the spells as powerful as you can. If anything," Sirius said, grinning, "we'll work on making that one more powerful. We don't want your opponent to actually be able to walk away. Best to make him completely unconscious."

Harry looked like he wanted to smile. His eyes were too worried though. Sirius put an arm round his shoulders, jostled him a bit. "I'm fine, mate, honestly."

"But if you have bruises—"

"I'll nick salve from Remus, he always has loads." He was beginning to get a nice headache as well, but he kept that bit of information to himself.

Harry was studying him behind his spectacles, probably trying to see the bruises as they formed. Cocking his head, Sirius said with a smile, "You called me Dad, did you realize?"

Harry flushed. "I… yeah," he answered, extreme caution in the tone—and a bit of a grimace. "I didn't really mean to, it just sort of flew out."

"Well," Sirius said, undeterred by the hesitation, "I'm rather glad you knocked me flat, then." With his thumb, he ironed out the wrinkle between his son's eyes. "I won't mind if you mean to do it next time."

Harry finally smiled, even if the expression was still soaked in worry. Sirius gripped his neck gently. "Shall we join Ron before he eats everything?"

"I wouldchn't eatch everysching!" Ron protested. The dwindling plate of scones said otherwise. And the crumbs spraying Dumbledore's white beard. "Schorry…"

"Never mind a good rain," the headmaster answered as he shook out the debris. He gestured for Harry and Sirius to sit, offering scones and pouring fragrant raspberry tea. "And a pain potion for you, Sirius." His eyes were sparkling with good humour. Harry flushed and sat beside Sirius.

"I told you he wouldn't mind," Ron said to Harry, grinning widely before he bit into his next scone.

"What was that?" Dumbledore inquired. He adjusted his spectacles to peer at Ron.

"Nothing," Harry said, aiming a kick at his friend.

"Ow!" Ron protested. "Haven't you delivered enough bruises for one day?"

Dumbledore chuckled.

Which seemed to encourage Ron. He grinned at the headmaster. "I told Harry that Sirius wouldn't mind. I mean, Sirius _is_ his dad, after all. Hermione told Harry first, of course, but she's a bit of a know-it all, isn't she?"

"I have never considered it," Dumbledore remarked conversationally; he topped off his tea. "A bright girl, though."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron sighed, "and don't think she doesn't tell us every day. At least now Harry can use the mirror on his own." A satisfied chomp emphasized the point.

"Quite right," Dumbledore agreed. "Very clever of you, Ronald. And you may tell Hermione I said so."

Ron grinned. Their conversation continued on blithely. Sirius glanced sideways at Harry, who was studying his scones' mountainous terrain with rapt concentration. Weeks' worth of greeting Ron or Hermione in the mirror suddenly made sense to Sirius.

With new warmth blossoming in his chest, he nudged Harry's foot under the table. He smiled when Harry lifted his eyes. Letting his breath out, Harry smiled as well. He took a bite of the last scone, and sounding as relaxed as Sirius had ever heard him, said to his friend, "Hermione will never believe the headmaster said you were clever, you know."

Unfazed, Ron retorted, "She'll have to. You heard it."

"If you want her know though," Sirius said innocently, "you'll have to speak to her." He hid his grin behind his cup when Harry laughed. Ron scowled.

"Harry will tell her," he said decisively. Harry sighed. Taking that as an agreement, Ron reached for another scone, coming up with a look of surprise when he found only crumbs.


	15. When a Peaceful Cacophony

Padfoot sat under the motionless arms of the Whomping Willow, watching the lights through the tall windows of the great hall. He could hear the music as well, and wondered if Harry had remembered the steps they'd practiced together. Wondered if Harry was having fun.

He wondered as he sat there, the light breeze winding through his fur, if the other parents thought about all those things—and wished they didn't have to be so far away. At least, in that way, he fit in. Though, if he was a free man, he didn't think he could stand to do as the other parents did—months without seeing their child.

But then, those parents, had years of memories behind them.

Sirius had a few dozen visits. And this—watching the castle from afar. Through the eyes of a grim-sized hound.

Pushing out a snuffling breath, Padfoot slid his front paws forward and settled in the cold grass, his eyes still fastened on the castle. It was late, and some of the students were beginning to wander onto the grounds. He even saw Hagrid in the distance, walking with Madame Maxime. A perfect match, Padfoot thought, sparing a moment of happiness for his old friend.

The stars brightened as the night wore on. None of the paired-off students moved down the hill—or came close to his rather unguarded hiding place. Which was preferable. He could just imagine Harry's face if he told him he'd been so exposed all night.

Sighing again, Padfoot shifted. The ground was quite cold, and without a wand to warm it, he occupied his mind with other things. Contemplated again the binding contract that Dumbledore was so certain would not allow Harry out of the third task.

It supposedly would not care that Sirius planned to keep Harry in London—if he could be certain that the damn house would behave. But Dumbledore had said again that the Cup's magic would simply take Harry back to Hogwarts. It would make more sense to simply disqualify him. Or that's what Sirius continued to tell himself.

Wishful thinking.

And if the magic bested them, Fawkes would be waiting to take Sirius to Hogwarts as well. To watch from beneath the bloody bleachers as his son took his chances through a hazardous maze.

At least they knew what awaited him. And Harry had fared very well in the other two tasks. He easily matched the other three champions. And his magic was certainly more powerful.

Whoever put Harry's name in the Cup couldn't have been counting on that. If someone had done it for malicious reasons. But why else would someone do it? As a prank, as Harry suggested. A potentially deadly one.

And they had considered Peter already—but if he wanted to harm Harry, he had had years of opportunity. And there was no need for revenge now—Peter was free, while Sirius rotted on the fringes of life.

The last of the students finally drifted back into the castle, save a pair at the edge of the lake who showed no signs of returning. Padfoot turned his attention from them, knowing he should get up and plod back through the tunnel to the shrieking shack, and beyond to Hogsmeade.

He liked the breeze though, enjoyed the way it rifled his fur, lifting it and smoothing it again. Felt like a luxury.

A familiar voice made him turn his head toward the tunnel. "Dad?"

The word, just as it had the first time, spread warmth through Padfoot's chest. Harry had used it a few times since, always with hesitation, but with pleasure in his eyes, like a pleasant secret.

Heaving his great bulk up, Padfoot shimmied into the tunnel beneath the willow, making sure to press himself into the shadows before he held the mirror up. He found Harry breathing a sigh of relief. "Hi," Sirius said quietly. "Did you have fun?"

"It wasn't awful," Harry admitted, smiling a little. "Where are you? I can hardly see you."

"In the tunnel to the Shrieking shack."

"Why? Did something happen in Hogsmeade?" The sheer panic made Sirius' stomach heavy. Knowing he could do nothing to solve it—to put Harry at ease, ate at him every day.

"No," he did the best he could, reassuring him quickly. "I just wanted to see the castle, I suppose."

"Oh. That's all right then," Harry decided.

Smiling, Sirius asked, "You and Ginny had fun?"

"When Ron wasn't being a git. He spent the entire night glaring at Krum and Hermione."

"Where is he now?"

"Sleeping. Everyone is sleeping. I'm in the toilet."

Sirius sighed. "I hope it's cleaner than when we were there."

Harry made a face. "Doubt it. I almost forgot how to do all the steps you taught me," he said. "When all the champions had to go out alone in the middle of the great hall. Everyone was staring."

"Sounds horrible," Sirius agreed.

"But then Ginny started making up voices for everyone—what they were thinking while they were busy staring at us. Snape with his scowl and McGonagall because she looked like she was holding her breath, hoping we wouldn't humiliate her, and Flitwick—" Harry grinned. "—was sort of swaying to the music with his eyes closed."

Sirius chuckled.

"Dumbledore danced with McGonagall. It was weird."

"Dumbledore likes to dance," Sirius told him. "He danced his way through the entire staff at our Yule Ball."

"You had a ball? Who did you take?"

"No one," Sirius told him, smiling a little at the surprise on Harry's face.

"Why not?"

Settling in against the dirt wall, and very grateful for this, Sirius said, "Remus didn't think anyone would go with him, so he refused to ask anyone. And we didn't want him to be all alone, so none of us took a partner. Marauder solidarity and all that."

"You danced with Remus, didn't you?" Harry asked, grinning.

"And if I did?" Sirius challenged. "Remus is a fine dancer."

Harry laughed. "You're mental."

"Oy, a bit of respect, if you please."

Still grinning, Harry asked, "Who did Mum go with? How old were you?"

"Sixteen, and your mum was escorted by Frank Longbottom."

"Neville's dad?"

"The very same."

\--

The day of the task came too quickly. An hour before Harry was to report, Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place with Remus. The house was cold, and he could sense the loss of his father's magic. It was as if a hole had been ripped through its seams, leaving shards of ice where Orion had been.

"You all right?" Remus asked as they went up the stairs.

"It's too quiet," Sirius answered, but didn't explain the rest. His mother's portrait was open still, his mother unmoving and silent. Only her eyes tracked his progress; Sirius shivered as they passed his father's study.

And when they reached the corridor outside the Hall of Portraits, he had to force himself to open the door. To Remus he said, "You best wait out here."

Remus hesitated, but didn't argue.

The walk down the black corridor was long—and considerably emptier than it had been with Harry. He could feel the magic in the walls reaching outward, perhaps trying to find what had been lost.

There was no commotion when he entered this time. Alphard greeted him quietly, but the rest of his ancestors mimicked his mother.

"They are worried you intend to burn them as well," Alphard said, not without humour. "Or Grimmauld Place to the ground, as you originally promised."

"Have they plans to harm my son?" Sirius asked, eyeing the lot of them. "Ideas about returning Rigel's magic to the house? I came to be certain he is safe here."

"I have already told you," Phineas snapped, "we are not suicidal!"

"And I will say again," Cygnus added, as if coming awake, "that it would be foolish to harm Harry. He is our future." His comments roused the rest.

"He is a half-blood!"

"Better a future of half-bloods than no future at all."

"You mock us!" Melania cried. "Just as Sirius has mocked us!" She pointed a bony finger at Sirius. "You destroyed your own father!"

"Cease your complaints, Melania," Alphard spoke over her. "What is done cannot be changed."

"Too true," Cygnus said, which made Alphard glance at him in surprise. "Even I cannot deny that fact is fact," he said peevishly. "And Orion had no right to make such a permanent decision without consulting us."

"He was doing what he could to protect us!"

"Do stop, Mother," Lucretia said worriedly. "Or your magic will be lost as well."

Melania's lips closed and she eyed Sirius as she stepped back. Sirius sighed.

"I am not mad," he said firmly. "I didn't burn my father's portrait in fun. He meant to murder my son. I am not mad," he repeated clearly, "but I will do it again if necessary."

"Even if we wanted to," Phineas sniffed, "we could not. Not without the elf. And he has abandoned his post."

"We are not flesh and blood, after all," Pollux agreed, just as if he found Sirius to be entirely daft.

"We ought not to do anything," Callidora said quietly. "Harry is a Black, even if his mother's blood is not pure. There are no other options, no other child to carry our magic forward. If it is the best we can do…"

"He carries Rigel's magic," Alphard agreed. "It is best to allow that to continue on, rather than leaving it within the walls, stagnant."

"Our magic will cease to exist," Cygnus said thoughtfully.

"Better than allowing Harry to contaminate," Sirius' namesake said snidely, though he too backed away from the younger Sirius' glare. "Your mother did not name you well," he muttered.

"I do wish you would consider changing his name," Callidora murmured. "It is simply not fitting."

"I didn't come here to discuss Harry's name," Sirius said tiredly, not least because he didn't want to think about it—James' reaction, mostly.

"You came here to threaten us," Phineas said, rather loudly. "We are aware. Your first threat was quite sufficient, thank you."

Sirius glanced at Alphard, ignored the rest of the portraits to ask, "It cannot be done without Kreacher's help?" He knew the answer, but needed to hear his uncle confirm it. The only Black he trusted.

"The ritual cannot be completed without a flesh and blood person," Alphard agreed, shaking his head. "And only Kreacher, and you, understand our magic well enough. Harry is quite safe from them."

"Them?" Sirius queried, a smile touching his lips in spite of everything. "Must be difficult," he said quietly, as if none of the others were listening. Alphard's answering smile was full of sadness.

"I did not expect to be here." Irony then. "I assumed your mother would destroy my portrait."

"She did intend to," Phineas Nigellus told him matter-of-factly. "After Sirius was disowned, but then you died and it was too late."

"How discourteous of me…"

Sirius didn't bother to hide his grin. But then he said with more solemnity, "I wasn't able to thank you for leaving everything to me."

"And you do not need to," Alphard told him easily. "Your mother treated you most despicably, and it was frankly a delight to do something that would displease her so."

"This disparagement of Walburga is most unbecoming," Pollux interrupted. "Especially when she is not here to defend herself."

"She is grieving for her husband. For the second time," Phineas said pointedly. And truly, Sirius did feel guilty for that. But he didn't admit it.

"I need to go," he said instead to Alphard, though he didn't explain why; not within hearing of the others. "Thank you."

For many things—more than any of the other portraits had any inkling of. But Alphard understood. He smiled, accepting as he always had been. Sirius waved his farewell and took his leave, not bestowing a similar farewell to any of the others.

They didn't seem to mind.

Remus was waiting for him on the other side of the wall. "You look rather cheerful," he said, pushing himself off the ragged wallpaper.

"Do I?"

"Well," Remus amended, "perhaps that was overreaching. You don't look like you need to punch someone."

"Lovely," Sirius said with a grimace; he sent his Patronus away, to tell Dumbledore that it was safe. "Oy, I must be tiresome."

"I would never say that, Padfoot."

"You have said it," Sirius retorted as they turned for the stairs. "You used to say it every day."

"Yes, well, you and James used to steal my potions' notes."

"We always gave them back to you."

"With lewd drawings in the margins."

"Helpful _tips_ , Moony," Sirius stressed as they stepped into the kitchen. "You were pants at Potions."

"And a picture of McGonagall naked was meant to help with that?"

"First of all, Remus," Sirius said with an exaggerated shudder, "do not say McGonagall and naked in the same sentence. And second, it was a picture of Fiona Sardenim." He whistled. "I know she was Slytherin, but—"

The Floo roared to life, depositing Harry through the green flames. He stumbled on his way over the hearth; Sirius caught his arm before his face met the stone. "I hate the Floo," he muttered as he straightened his red and black shirt and shoved his glasses back on with the heel of his hand. "Hi," he added belatedly.

"Hi," Sirius echoed with a smile.

"Hello, Harry."

"This isn't going to work," Harry sighed. He pulled his wand free of its holster with an agitated movement and thumped it on the table.

Sirius ignored Remus' wince; put his hand over it before it met the edge. "I need to make the attempt though."

Fawkes appeared above them with a shattering crack. All three jumped, and then stared at the bird. He paid them no mind as he sat on one of the tall cupboards.

Returning his attention to Harry, Sirius held out the wand. "You will need this in case the Cup's magic pulls you back. Take it," he added quietly when Harry only gazed at him.

Frowning, Harry eventually obeyed. "How long do you think it will wait?"

"I don't know. I assume champions have been late before. Shall we practice a few more spells while we wait?"

Harry shook his head.

Sirius reached out to comb the hair from his forehead. "What would you like to do?"

Harry didn't answer, sat down only to stand up again a moment later. Simultaneously amused and worried, Sirius hooked his son's neck in the crook of his elbow and pulled him in. "If I was meant to go into that maze, I'm not sure I could do it."

"Yes, you could," Harry scoffed. "You wouldn't be nervous."

"I certainly would. I don't know a soul alive who wouldn't be."

Harry punched out a breath.

"You are prepared for it," Sirius assured him. "And we know a lot more than we probably should, according to the rules."

That at least made Harry smile. Briefly, before he sagged into one of the chairs and began tapping a nervous staccato on the table top. Remus and Sirius sat in the chairs opposite.

"It will be over before you know it," Remus offered.

"The champions don't have to report for another fifteen minutes," Harry said in reply.

"Let's do something while we wait then," Sirius said. "You haven't seen the garden yet—it's within the wards" He stood giving his son no choice to follow. He crooked his fingers and with a small sigh, Harry pushed himself up.

"Didn't you say the house is so warded that it's like it doesn't even exist?" he asked as Sirius led the way.

"I did."

"Then how would the Cup find me?"

"I said as much to Dumbledore," Sirius admitted. "But he doesn't seem to think it will matter. Come on outside."

The sun was just setting, casting a rose glow over the sky. It should have been beautiful, but the trees were too overgrown, as ignored as the house.

"Erm," Harry said, gesturing lamely, "it's nice…"

Sirius made a face. "It's disgusting. It was lovely when I was a child—well, except for all the plants that might bite you… or inject you with poison."

Harry and Remus took a step back.

Sirius smirked. "Don't touch anything," he said, "and you'll be fine."

"Do you have gnomes?" Harry asked. "The Weasleys have gnomes."

"Yes, and they're a nasty lot."

"The Weasleys swing them about by their heads."

Sirius laughed. "The ones in here would bite you—or stab you with something."

"Lovely," Remus remarked dryly. "Perhaps we ought to go back inside."

"It isn't so terrible," Sirius said, shrugging. "The night is cool at least. And the magic isn't as cloying out here."

"And you can see the stars," Harry agreed. Sirius glanced over at him, smiling as Harry stepped closer. Sirius slipped an arm round his shoulders.

"It would be even better without all the lights from the city."

Harry squinted sideways at him. "I bet you can see them really well in Hogsmeade."

"Yes, one of the better aspects about being a dog is sleeping outside."

Harry smiled slightly, but it was impossible to miss the sadness in his eyes. "When you're free," he said firmly, looking back up to the stars, "we'll get a house there."

Sirius didn't say anything; his throat was too tight. Several times, he swallowed, and had to look away from Remus' equally surprised expression. He hadn't realized…

"Harry…" He had to swallow again. "I don't know if… that will ever happen. With Peter gone—"

"It will," Harry said, not quite as firm but with as much hope. "It has to," he added quietly. "You can't live in that cave forever, and in the summer…"

Sirius took his son's arms and turned him. "In the summer, you will live with me. Here, if we have to—"

"You hate it here."

"Not enough to send you anywhere else. No matter what, we are staying together." When Harry didn't answer, Sirius said, "You can't have thought I'd allow you to return to Surrey."

"No…" Truth didn't quite ring through the mumble.

"Oy. No, you are absolutely not going back there. Why should you?"

"Dunno, Dumbledore said I was safest there. I've had to go back every summer."

"The wards are strong here, incredibly so; perhaps stronger than the blood wards. How long have you been worrying about this?" Sirius asked. "You should have told me."

Harry's shoulder's lifted. "You have enough to worry about."

"I don't have anything more important to worry about than you." He grasped Harry's chin. "We're staying together."

Swallowing, Harry nodded. "You don't think…"

The lump in his throat reforming anew, Sirius said scratchily, "I'm sorry, love, but no, I don't. Peter is well and truly gone."

"It's my fault."

Sirius and Harry turned. Remus had moved away, presumably to examine an overgrown dustroot, but had clearly still heard their conversation.

"Of course it isn't, Moony."

"I forgot to take my potion, Sirius." Remus' face was pained. "I am very sorry, Harry. If not for me—"

"You didn't mean to forgot," Harry interrupted. "Honestly, Professor."

"Remus," Sirius murmured.

"Honestly, Remus. It isn't your fault."

Remus sighed, but knew enough not to argue. He probably wished he hadn't even spoken, judging from his hooded eyes. "Let's go inside," Sirius said, trying to sound cheerful; for both of them.

He guided Harry through first, and then tossed a smile to his friend. Remus had straightened his expression though, saving his private hell for another time.

"It's different now, isn't it?" Harry asked quietly as he looked around the kitchen. "The house, I mean."

Sirius studied him. "You can feel it?"

"Erm… I guess so, I didn't realize it before but it feels… dunno how to describe it."

"The house is broken," Sirius said it for him. "It isn't whole any longer."

Harry nodded slowly. "Is it easier now?" he asked suddenly and then immediately flushed. "I don't mean to—"

"Because my father's magic is gone?" Sirius asked in surprise, waving off the hesitation. Harry's intuitive understanding of the magic pulsing through these walls constantly surprised him, though it shouldn't have. He was just as much a part of the family's magic as Sirius was—more even, since he possessed the most powerful that they had.

But Sirius had no chance to say so. A soft blue glow lit Harry's skin—his hair, even his clothes. His eyes widened; filled with panic. "You'll be fine," Sirius said quickly. "You're more than prepared." He wanted nothing more than to grab him—force the magic to let him stay. But he couldn't even reach out and put a comforting hand on his son's shoulder.. But with a sickly squelching sound, Harry was gone.

"Fuck," Sirius breathed, even as his body morphed into Padfoot. Fawkes was waiting just above his head when he was fully transformed. Padfoot put his mouth around the long tail; Remus, his hand, and then they too were pulled away from Grimmauld Place.

\--

From his secluded place behind the closest bleachers, Padfoot watched a recovered—though supposedly memoryless—Crouch waving his arms in agitation while Harry flinched. Dumbledore tried to intervene several times. Padfoot growled low in his throat, and had to force his powerful muscles to still. Beside him, Remus patted his neck.

"He is here, Barty," Dumbledore said, finally drawing the other man's attention. "I'm sure Harry is very sorry for the delay."

Harry nodded resignedly. Dumbledore patted his arm.

"You see, Barty? Are we ready, then? Everyone?" He turned to address the other champions. Krum looked as irritated as Barty. Fleur and Cedric simply looked nervous. Cedric half-smiled at Harry as he was shunted along to stand beside the older boy.

"As we finally have all our champions," Barty addressed the crowd, but not without a glare for Harry. Another growl crawled up Padfoot's throat. He kept his eyes on Harry though, trying to give him confidence telepathically.

A moment later, Harry glanced to the side, though he couldn't have known where Padfoot was hiding. Padfoot smiled to himself, marveling again at the deep magic connecting them.

He was tensing a moment later, as the call to begin to begin the race was given. Harry took off, the look of determination clear on his face, his holly held firmly in his grip. Fear mingled with pride as Padfoot watched him disappear into the maze.

\--

Fleur returned first, by way of two professors responding to her emergency signal. Krum came next, flat on his back and with his outraged headmaster fluttering about his head and snapping at the hapless attendants.

The noise from the Hogwarts students swelled, excited that whoever won, it would be one of their own. Padfoot tuned them out, had already given up on staying still. He prowled the tiny space, grateful that Remus had sneaked out. He needed the pacing room.

A growing murmur eventually brought his attention back to the pitch. A stretcher floated between Pomfrey and one of her assistants. Padfoot scrambled to the end of the bleachers, doing nothing to still the pace of his heart. He nearly sagged with relief when he recognized Cedric.

Cedric's parents hurried down from the bleachers. They sighed as well, their relief echoing round when the healer told them he was simply unconscious. "Harry found him. He's the one who sent the signal," she explained. "And waited with him until we arrived."

Padfoot cocked his head, listening intently.

"He is well on his way again," she told the eager crowd. "Near the cup, and perfectly fit."

A cheer of approval rose up, loudest from the Gryffindor section.

Padfoot closed his eyes. Not too much longer.

The other champions were attended to, and eventually on their feet, though only briefly before Pomfrey guided them to seats. And still, no sign of Harry.

Padfoot had no idea how much time had passed, but the crowds became restless. Again, with low rumblings of impatience and discontent. Dumbledore consulted with Pomfrey, who assured him that Harry had indeed been close to the goblet. "We could see it," she insisted. "Harry only turned back from it to help Cedric."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, eventually calling for Hagrid.

Limbs frozen now with anxiety, Padfoot did not pace. He shivered in the rapidly freezing night and stared at the entrance to the maze, willing Harry to appear.

\--

Harry stared at the advancing man, at his bloodshot eyes and angry mouth. Familiar, all of it. Harry scrambled backward, his nails scraping the cold ground and finding no purchase. The goblet had fallen somewhere behind him, and if he could—

"Finally," the familiar man whispered as he crouched to breathe his rotting words across Harry's face. "After so long… so many failed attempts… Finally, you are here…"

"Where—"

"You wouldn't recognize it." Spittle rained over Harry's cheek. "The very place he spent his last night. You were too young, weren't you, Harry? So young when you took him from us." He grabbed Harry's arm, shaking him roughly as he hissed, "You took him from us, didn't you?"

"Who?" The words rattled as Harry was shaken again.

"The dark lord!" the man spat. "But you could not destroy him completely, could you? Because I will not allow it. Peter!"

His voice rang over the grass, nearly as wild as the garden at Grimmauld Place. Harry sucked in a breath, too stunned even to blink as Peter Pettigrew shuffled through the overgrown bushes. He stammered something that Harry couldn't here.

"Shut up, you useless troll!" the man screeched, each word more manic than the rest. "Bring them to me!"

Peter shuffled faster, nearly tripping over his feet twice; his eyes stayed on the ground. He brought with him a book, and a necklace, burnt and misshapen. The same necklace that Regulus had retrieved from that cave, Harry realized.

"This is all we have left of him, Harry," the man said, his fingers clenching in spasms around both. "But soon, we shall have our lord again. It is very old magic, isn't it, Harry? Something you cannot understand, but it does not matter what you understand!"

Harry cried out as his fringe was yanked from his forehead—from his scar.

"Let me look upon his mark, the famed scar of the beloved Harry Potter." The man laughed, high and frenzied. "You shall be nothing, soon, Harry, nothing but blood when the dark lord is risen. Yes, Harry," he said, whispers again as Harry fought against his hold. "From the dead, he shall rise. Whole again. Peter!"

Harry was dropped into the dirt again, the sudden motion sending jarring pain through his elbow as it struck a rock. He scrambled up, intending to run, but a rough hand caught his arm. Harry was fast though, always had been, thanks to Dudley. He jerked back, his wand aimed even as he moved. "Pulsus!"

More force this time—everything he had as he pictured Rigel's face. And as if he had summoned his ancestor, a black jet shot from his wand and struck the man in the chest.

He flew backward, landing near the bushes. Harry didn't wait to see if he had left him unconscious. "Accio Goblet!"

"Stop him!"

As Harry grabbed the metal cup, a hand clamped around his ankle. And then that familiar sensation of a hook nabbing him behind his navel attacked and the night disappeared in a blur.

He met the hard ground a few seconds later amidst the roar of cheers. But only for a moment, and then there were gasps of surprise and low murmurs as Harry tried to reorient his brain. He could see Cedric and Fleur, their hair filled with twigs and both with scratches adorning their faces. And Krum; scowling at him.

"It's Peter Pettigrew!" Someone cried—sounded like Ron—or maybe one of the twins. Harry twisted, not understanding. But then, there he was. Wormtail, near Harry's feet and scrambling to stand, his body already morphing.

"Incarcerous!" Dumbledore's deep voice boomed, followed immediately by two spells that Harry didn't recognize. Dumbledore bent and blithely scooped the rat off the ground. Wormtail's teeth chittered angrily as he struggled against the tiny ropes binding his body.

"Somnous," Dumbledore said quietly and the rat's beady little eyes drifted closed; Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction. He found Harry's gaze and smiled. Harry could only stare back at him. But the headmaster's eyes quickly shifted. They widened.

Harry turned his head, and ice immediately settled in his fingertips. The same man, his face even wilder. The now-bloodied side of his face deepened the madness. He made a strangled sound deep in his throat. With trembling fingers, he lifted his hand and Harry was suddenly looking straight down the point of his wand.

"Stupify!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Dozens of spells rang out in all directions, so many that they blended together. And somewhere in the midst of all that, something crashed into Harry's chest and he fell backwards to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He blinked up into familiar grey eyes, two giant paws pinning him to the grass as the furry black chest heaved.


	16. Ends the Finally Again

"It's the grim!"

"It's a dog, you idiot!"

People were shouting; cameras flashed from every direction.

"Ah. Snuffles," Dumbledore said amongst the general pandemonium; his face came into view above them. "Perfect. Let us adjourn to my office, shall we?"

Padfoot shifted his paws off Harry's chest, allowing him to sit up. Wary, Padfoot surveyed the scene. The younger Crouch was lying on the ground, his eyes closed and his wand nowhere in sight. His father lay unconscious over his legs, perhaps caught in the crossfire of spells. There was a ring of bodies around them—mostly professors and several Weasleys—blocking the crowd's view. All of them had their wands trained on the younger Crouch.

Dumbledore gestured to Pomfrey and McGonagall. "Minerva, Poppy, tie Barty—the younger—if you would. Tightly. And bring him along. I believe the Aurors will want to see him. Remus, if you would remain near his father, I am sure he will be most distressed when he wakes. Harry, come along now."

Harry gripped the long fur along Padfoot's shoulder as he stood on shaky feet. Padfoot nudged his ribs and with his fingers still tangled in fur, Harry heeded the gesture, moving quickly along after Dumbledore, sandwiched in between Pomfrey and McGonagall as they guided Crouch through the air with their wands.

The other professors remained, and Padfoot could hear them soothing the excitement, and keeping them from following as Harry left the pitch.

The walk to the Headmaster's office seemed to take forever and Harry's eyes never strayed from the scraggly rat dangling by his tail from Dumbledore's fingers. Beside him, Padfoot was eyeing Wormtail as well, but more often, his gaze was on Harry, especially after Harry stumbled and Dumbledore had to take his elbow to keep him from falling.

Harry's legs were trembling by the time they reached the headmaster's office. Padfoot transformed as soon as the door clanged shut. Harry tried to swallow the sound that emerged from his throat—something like a sob or a sigh. Sirius closed the space between them and gathered him up. "You're all right," he whispered, the words coming on their own, from someplace primal and never before used. All the worries and fears from the past months—years even, had been realized. And Sirius didn't ever want to let his son out of his sight.

"You're all right," he said again as he guided Harry to a chair. He knelt in front of it and cupped Harry's face; his hands were trembling too. There were scratches all over Harry's face, dried blood and dirt. "Did they hurt you?"

Harry shook his head. "Didn't… didn't have a chance."

Trying to take Harry's tremors as his own, Sirius brushed his thumbs over and over Harry's cheeks. He could hear Dumbledore in the background, activating the Floo, could hear Pomfrey and McGonagall wrapping heftier spells around their captives.

"P…Pettigrew," Harry chattered.

"I know," Sirius said softly. And if Harry's lips hadn't been blue, the joy might have surfaced. "What happened?" he asked instead, keeping up the rhythm with his thumbs—for himself as much as Harry. Dumbledore had joined them by then, listening with intensity as Harry described disjointedly what had happened.

"They meant to resurrect Voldemort," Dumbledore whispered, his shock mirroring Sirius' own. "He is Barty Crouch's son," he explained because Harry had no idea. He gestured to the wizard held tightly in bonds. "He was a Death Eater."

"I saw him," Harry mumbled. "He's the one… cast the dark mark at the world cup. They can't bring him back…" His distress twisted Sirius' stomach. "Can they?"

"With dark magic," Dumbledore said quietly, "they would have attempted it. But I do not think they would have been successful. They could have perhaps created a shadow of what Voldemort was—not a flesh and blood person. They did not have his body?"

Harry shook his head.

"But how could this have happened?" McGonagall demanded. "How did they turn the Goblet into a Portkey?"

"I do not know," Dumbledore murmured. "It does seem likely that one of them put Harry's name in the Cup."

A sharp rap at the door took their attention.

"Sirius, that will be the Aurors. I summoned them through the Floo," Dumbledore explained when Sirius stared at him blankly. "To collect Barty and I will need to return Peter to his human form—"

Harry straightened with a jerk. "But—"

"I will perform a spell which will not allow him to transform," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "I assure you that he will not escape this time."

Harry swallowed.

"I'll be right here," Sirius said quietly, though he wished he didn't have to transform. "Peter isn't going anywhere."

"Right," Harry whispered.

"I will hurry them along," Dumbledore promised. With his eyes on Sirius, Harry nodded. Sirius was Padfoot in the next moment, Harry's hand once again gripping his fur, though Sirius had no intention of leaving his side.

The Aurors were allowed in then, all efficiency and questions—no surprise where there should have been shock. They simply glanced over the two prisoners and began a series of identification spells.

"Barty Crouch, Jr.," one intoned while the other made note of it on his parchment. "Formerly declared deceased. Peter Pettigrew. Formerly declared dead—assumed murdered by Sirius Black."

"He wasn't," Harry said quietly. The two Aurors glanced at him.

"Mr. Potter, you were abducted by these two men?" one of them asked. Dumbledore encouraged Harry with a smile while Padfoot could do nothing but press himself closer.

"My very loyal dog," Dumbledore explained as they eyed him. "Snuffles."

Padfoot growled—couldn't help himself—when one of them stepped too near.

"He is wonderfully protective," Dumbledore said helpfully as the Auror stepped back. "And such large teeth."

Warily, the Auror took another step back. Satisfied, Padfoot let his lips close. The Auror cleared his throat. "We will need your testimony, Mr. Potter."

With a bit more colour in his cheeks Harry told his story again.

"They intended to resurrect You-Know-Who?" They gaped at him.

"Clearly insane," the other one said; his quill wrote busily. "And you say you simply touched the Cup and returned to Hogwarts?"

"Summoned it," Harry murmured.

"Right." Another note.

"And you are quite certain these were the two wizards with you?"

Harry's affirmative had a hint of irritation about it. The Auror took no notice.

"Very well," he said, and rolled his parchment with a snap. "We may need to question you further, of course. This is highly irregular, as both of these men are supposed to be dead."

"It is not impossible to fake one's death," Dumbledore said.

"Mm," the Auror grunted noncommittally. "We have enough to take them into custody. Four more Aurors are waiting downstairs. And two have gone to inspect the maze. Others will be dispatched to Godric's Hollow—since that is where you believe you were—your parents' home, where you defeated You-Know-Who?"

Another nod from Harry.

"Mr. Potter needs to rest," Pomfrey said then, and Padfoot decided he might kiss her when he was human again. "And his injuries require attention."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Potter," the Auror agreed. "We shall contact you soon."

Both eyed Padfoot, decided not to shake Harry's hand, nodded instead. "Good day, Mr. Potter."

Dumbledore opened the door for the other Aurors, whose shock at seeing two supposedly dead wizards was rather more appropriate. They worked efficiently though, applying more spells to both. "We appreciate the offer, Headmaster, but—"

"As a member of the wizengamot," Dumbledore forestalled any argument, "I do believe it is within my purview to accompany you. Minerva, perhaps you would come as well."

The Auror sighed, but did not argue. He directed his comrades to lift the bound prisoners, and with another nod for Harry and Pomfrey, they trooped from the office.

"I will contact you the moment we arrive at the Ministry," Dumbledore said before the door closed.

"Are you in pain?" Pomfrey asked as Padfoot transformed. Sirius sat in the chair beside his son, simply offering silent support while the healer plied him with potions. "Padfoot is a rather fearsome protector," she said with some amusement.

Harry's nod was erratic.

"He won't get away this time," Sirius said, though the weight of what this meant was just beginning to sink in and his voice came out uneven. Harry blinked at him, words failing.

"The headmaster will make certain of it," Pomfrey agreed crisply. "He has been very pleased to see you so happy, Mr. Potter."

Surprised, Harry stared at her. She smiled. "Your Head of House as well. Now then, all of your wounds are superficial, but several hours of rest would not go amiss. Though I suspect you will not be able to until you hear from the headmaster. I assume you will take him to Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes."

"Will you tell Hermione and Ron that I'm OK?" Harry asked, finally stirring.

"And Remus," Sirius added.

"My pleasure," she assured them. She patted Harry's shoulder, left Sirius with several in case he feels unwell later potions and left them alone.

"I'm so sorry," Sirius said, gripping Harry's hands as he leant forward. "If I could have…"

"I know," Harry mumbled. "I'm all right."

Sirius swallowed through the ache in his throat. It could have so easily been worse. He pulled Harry forward until their foreheads met. "You are an amazing kid, do you realize that? You kept your wits about you, and got yourself out of there. It takes strength to do that."

Harry's answer took long moments to arrive. "You taught me the spell."

"Pomfrey told us that you sent the signal for Cedric," Sirius said quietly. "And waited with him. For all of that, Harry James, I am very proud of you." He kissed Harry's forehead and let him sit back. Harry smiled a little.

"What would you have named me?" he asked softly. "If you could have?"

"I don't know," Sirius murmured, tilting his head as he studied his son's features. "Your mum chose your name."

"She did?"

"She always favored the name. And if James hadn't come back to us, I like to think I would have honoured his memory. Harry James," Sirius repeated quietly, "would have been your name either way."

Seemingly satisfied with that, Harry nodded. His shoulders tensed though in the next moment. "They didn't even give you a trial. What if they don't care that he's alive?"

"They wanted to believe I was the traitor," Sirius told him, not voicing his own worries. Distraction, and sleep, was what Harry needed. "Let's go to Grimmauld Place, yeah? It's late, and I happen to agree with Pomfrey."

Harry stood, but his limbs were restless, his words jerky, "I couldn't sleep."

But any plans to have a sleep were promptly squashed once they stepped through Dumbledore's Floo and into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.

Kreacher was standing with his back to them. "… wants to—"

He pivoted, his limbs landing at crooked angles. His huge eyes grew wider. "Master Black," he whispered, "Kreacher wanted—"

But Sirius wasn't listening. Behind the elf, there was a large frame—the very same sort that kept all his ancestors within their canvases. Feeling dazed and especially aware at the same time, Sirius continued forward. Bowing at the waist, Kreacher moved away. Perhaps the first time he had done so without sarcasm, but Sirius hardly cared.

Against a background of grey, with the family's crest regal above him, his brother smiled out at him. The last time he had seen that expression—aimed at him... Sirius couldn't remember. Wasn't important any longer.

"Hey Reg." The greeting was whispered, nearly choked from his lips. Regulus' smile deepened.

"Sirius," he said softly. "It's good to see you." It was the same voice Sirius remembered. Slightly haughty, the mischievousness worked out of him by their mother. But there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before. An ease of carriage that wasn't his birthright.

Everything that Sirius wanted to say stayed in his throat—lodged there with the years. It didn't even help when he swallowed; his lashes were already damp. He blinked until his emotions obeyed and then reached over to pull Harry to his side. "This is my son. Harry," he found the words. "Harry, your Uncle Regulus."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry."

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said just as quietly. He was smiling though, glancing between the brothers.

"Kreacher told me that you were the one to receive Rigel's magic. You have no idea how happy that made me. I never expected to have a nephew." Regulus shifted his eyes to Sirius, amusement simmering there. "He didn't think a child would appreciate our genes."

Sirius squeezed Harry's shoulder. "This one doesn't seem to mind."

"I don't," Harry said quickly, then relaxed a little when Regulus laughed, a sound no longer burdened.

"I used to think Sirius was quite mad," he said to Harry as he sobered. "For refusing to follow our parents' traditions—for getting himself sorted into Gryffindor. We were all convinced he did that deliberately." His voice going low, he murmured, "Father never did forgive you for that."

"No," Sirius agreed softly.

A deep sigh shook his brother's frame. He lifted his hand, the palm outward. Reflexively, Sirius mimicked the gesture; the paint was rough against his fingertips. "You should not feel guilt for that, Sirius. He felt none for what he intended. You should be very proud of everything you've become. Kreacher told me everything—about Azkaban, and how much you've given up to be with Harry now, how you've been living on rats to keep him safe."

Beside them, Kreacher finally moved. He nodded vigorously. Regulus paused to smile fondly at him before saying quietly to Sirius, "You were always brave, though I only understood that when it was nearly too late. It was you I was trying to emulate in my final few months."

"Regulus," Sirius said roughly, "you don't have to—"

"No," Regulus said firmly, "I do. I thought of you during my last raid with the dark lord. There were two little boys, two brothers. And I watched them, the older brother trying to comfort the little one, telling him he was so brave. And I remembered what it was like when we were kids, when you used to let me sleep in your bed when I had nightmares. I remembered that," he said again, his voice thready, "and I knew that you would be ashamed of me. I wanted you to be proud of me too."

"I am," Sirius whispered.

"Thank you," Regulus said softly. "You have no idea what that means to hear you say that. And I am sorry… for everything that I did, for each time I made your life unbearable here."

"Don't," Sirius said. He shook his head and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "You've more than made up for anything. Harry is here because of what you did. And that's worth more to me than all the rest."

Regulus nodded, his gaze encompassing both of them as he pulled his hand away. "It means something to be a Black, Harry. Something more than blood purity. Some of us have been more than that. You can be proud of who you are."

Harry glanced at Sirius and smiled. "I am."

"I am very glad Rigel's magic protected you," Regulus told him. "You will take care of my big brother?"

"If he'll let me," Harry said, nudging Sirius' ribs.

Regulus squinted at Sirius. To Harry, he said, "I've never seen him happier."

The Floo roared then; McGonagall's head appeared in the flames. "I suspected you might be here… You found your brother's portrait? Albus will be pleased to hear that."

Without pausing, she went on, "Peter arrived safely to the Ministry and is now being questioned by several Aurors. Albus has been allowed to stay—he insisted upon staying—with him throughout. Reporters and photographers saw us at Hogwarts and here. There is no reason to believe this shall not end your favor, Sirius. Cornelius is already heralding himself as the mastermind behind the capture of the true traitor to the Potters." She tutted softly. "He wants to meet with Harry as soon as possible."

Before Sirius could refuse, Minerva went on with a smile, "I told him Harry was severely injured and would not be conscious for at least a week."

Sirius and Harry grinned, and Sirius said, "You are brilliant, Professor."

"I am no longer your professor, Mr. Black," she said crisply, and then ducked back through the flames.

"I knew I always liked the old girl," Sirius chuckled.

"She seems to have mellowed with age," Regulus agreed.

Sirius' smile stopped mid-way. "Oy, Harry," he said, ducking his head and taking his son's shoulders. "Breathe," he commanded.

Harry let out his breath in a noisy explosion. "It can't be that easy! They let you rot for all those years and they never even gave you a trial!"

Sirius sighed. "When they brought me into the Ministry, it marked the end of a very long and disastrous war. I was a symbol, do you understand? They didn't care about truth, only that the war should be over—everything neat and tidy. And," he added, "they truly did believe I was the traitor."

"Well, but doesn't that make you angry?" Harry demanded.

"Yes, fairly."

Harry raised a skeptical brow. "You were angrier when I went into the forest with Krum."

"Frustrated," Sirius reminded him. "There isn't any point in raging about Azkaban and the idiots at the Ministry. There is no way to get those twelve years back—thirteen including this past year. Now, if raging would do that, then rage I would."

Harry blew out a breath, but didn't vent his feelings further. "Do you think McGonagall's right though?"

"Yes," Sirius said, cautious though he wanted to be. "They can't very well accuse me of murdering someone who is sitting in their interrogation room."

"Dumbledore is a formidable force," Regulus added. "And though she never much cared for me, I should think McGonagall will do everything she can for Sirius. She liked him very well."

"She did have a bit of soft spot for me and James," Sirius agreed lightly. "She pretended not to like us, but we knew better. What's the matter?" he asked Harry, who was looking at them from beneath a studious brow.

"Nothing, just realized that McGonagall must be really old if she was your professor."

"Hm…" Sirius murmured. "Is that your way of saying _I'm_ old?"

"Rather sounded like it," Regulus put in.

"I'm only thirty-four, you know."

"Ancient," Harry said with a nod.

"Cheeky thing, isn't he?" asked Regulus.

With a smile, Sirius said, "He _is_ my son."


	17. Epilogue

"It's perfect, Harry," Ginny said.

"There's even enough room to fly your broom out there," Ron added; his nose was pressed against Harry's bedroom window.

"The mark of a brilliant house as far as Ron is concerned," Hermione said tartly; at least they were no longer ignoring one another. She turned from the bookshelf. "Where did you get all of these?"

"Some of them are from Grimmauld Place," Harry told her, coming over to inspect the one she was holding. "The others we bought in Diagon Alley." Which hadn't been easy as they had been mobbed by curious crowds—all of them eager for a look at the infamous Sirius Black, and his reclaimed son.

"Did these belong to Sirius?" she asked.

"That one was his grandfather's." He laughed at the hopeful expression on her face. "Just be careful with it."

She hugged the ancient tome to her chest. "Of course I will."

"Harry!" Sirius' voice carried from outside the open window. "Lunch is ready!"

Harry jogged over to the window and stuck his head out. "Coming, Dad!" His friends were smiling at him when he turned. He shrugged, no longer self-conscious about referring to Sirius that way; it was natural now, and for the first time in his life, he felt normal.

"Let's go," he said, grinning as well.

"Is that Sirius' room?" Ginny asked of the room across the corridor.

"Yep, and there's an extra room next to it, but we haven't had any guests."

He greeted his two uncles' portraits as they passed the room Sirius and Harry had dubbed the library, though several of the tall shelves were empty—they hadn't been able to stomach another trip to Diagon Alley.

Regulus and Alphard paused their lively debate to meet his friends. "Lovely to meet you," Alphard said.

"Where are you off to?" Regulus asked.

"Lunch," Ron said eagerly. "And if we don't hurry, Fred and George might eat all the food."

"His brothers," Harry supplied.

"Ah yes," murmured Alphard with a knowing glance for Regulus.

Chuckling, Regulus said, "Go on, Harry, best not let your friend starve."

Ron wasted no time; he darted from the room. Shaking his head, Harry said a proper farewell, as did Ginny and Hermione before they followed after Ron.

"Kreacher didn't come with you?" Hermione asked quietly. "After Christmas you told us he didn't take clothes because he wanted to stay with Regulus."

"He visits sometimes," Harry told her. "But he couldn't bear to leave my grandmother all alone in the house." Especially not after her husband's portrait had been destroyed. She had been silent since. He didn't explain that Sirius couldn't have stood to have the elf around, not after so many years of Kreacher making his young life miserable.

"Another minute," Sirius greeted him cheerfully as they stepped out into the garden, "and there wouldn't be any food left."

Food, however, was not in short supply. Sirius and Harry had been preparing all morning—with Remus' help when he came over. And Mrs. Weasley brought enough to feed all of them for a week.

Sirius put an arm round his shoulder as his friends found seats. "Did they like your room?"

Grinning, Harry nodded.

"Good," Sirius said. He rumpled Harry's hair and then they took the last chairs at the long table, near Remus. Remus, perpetually smiling since the third task, offered pumpkin juice to Sirius.

"Thanks, Moony." He filled his and Harry's glasses.

"Here you are, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said with a warm smile as she passed along the tray of sandwiches.

"Thanks."

With a cooler air, she offered the tray to Sirius. She hadn't quite accepted the situation, though Mr. Weasley had made fast friends with Sirius—they had bonded immediately over Sirius' motorbike, finally returned by Hagrid, who was chomping his way through a chicken at the far end of the table.

"Your fish paste is delicious, Sirius," Dumbledore murmured appreciatively. "Whatever do you put into it?"

"Dill and lemon. Capers as well. And a bit of mustard. My uncle Alphard's recipe."

"We took all of his recipes from Grimmauld Place," Harry volunteered around his own sandwich.

"He loved to cook," Sirius explained. He offered Harry a napkin, waggling his little finger at a smear of fish at the edge of Harry's mouth. "Another reason Alphard was a bit of an oddity as far as the Blacks were concerned."

"A talented oddity," Dumbledore agreed. He patted his mouth with a napkin. His star-strewn sleeve brushed the table as he reached for another sandwich.

"It is a beautiful house, Sirius," Pomfrey added her voice to the conversation. "You will be very glad to be so close to Hogwarts."

"You may be overrun by Harry's friends at Hogsmeade weekends," McGonagall said dryly.

"He won't mind," Harry said, with a grin for his dad. "Will you?"

"Absolutely not."

"And he's already promised to help us with our products," George spoke up. His twin nodded.

"He has loads of brilliant ideas."

Mrs. Weasley frowned in disapproval.

"All of them legal," Sirius assured her. He glanced at Harry as she returned her attention to her plate and said under his breath, "Some of them just barely."

Smothering a laugh, Harry tucked in.

\--

"Is that deep enough?"

Sirius glanced over at his son, considered the hole in the dirt—nearly the size of Sirius' fist; he glanced at the book open at their feet to compare with the illustration. "Perfect. If you pass me the tray of dustroot, we'll put them in." He held up the first specimen to examine the silvery leaves.

He had never actually done any planting himself, though they were using some of the same plants he enjoyed as a child—and the others Harry had chosen. Lilies especially. As many specimens as they could find.

"Not quite sure how to do this…"

"Mind the roots," Harry told him. "And just put it in." Sirius cocked his head, and Harry shrugged. "Gardening was one of my chores at the Dursleys'."

"Oh." Sirius sat back, the plant drooping in his palm. "We don't have to do this… if it's unpleasant—"

But Harry shook his head. "I didn't mind when I was by myself. I like gardening with you though. You don't shout," he added with a smile.

Sirius' stomach twisted, but he smiled anyway. "Kreacher shooed us away when he was tending the garden. I rather like it."

"It's quiet," Harry agreed as he put soil over the roots after Sirius settled the dustroot into the hole. Patting it into place, he asked, "How are we going to put in the stones?"

Sirius pointed to his new wand with an elbow; his hands were filthy. "Magic."

Harry grinned.

"Tomorrow though," Sirius chuckled. "The sun's nearly gone." He patted the soil around the last silver leaves—now nearly in shadow—and sat back on his heels to survey their work. "We make a good team, you and I."

Harry, his clothes and face a patchwork of dirt, nodded in satisfaction. "We need more plants," he decided. "If we want a proper garden."

"We certainly do. We'll fetch more tomorrow. Do you know a cleaning charm for your hands?"

Harry swished his wand. "Scourgify," he ordered, which cleared away most of the dirt from his hands; not from under his nails. Sirius took his fingers, and aimed his wand at each one individually as he chanted a more focused spell.

"Thanks."

"Accio flannel." Another spell to dampen the cloth. "You look like you've been crawling through one of the tunnels from Hogwarts," he said with a smirk.

"So do you."

"It'll do," Sirius said after a few minutes of attempting to vanish all the dirt. He massaged his kinked muscles and stretched out his legs as he looked around. "It really is lovely, isn't it?" Enough trees to surround the perimeter. They had chosen this property specifically for the trees. The house they'd built to match.

"And we can see the stars," Harry said. Darkness was just beginning to blanket the sky. Threading his fingers together to make a pillow behind his head, Sirius settled against the cooling grass. He smiled when his son glanced at him, and then followed suit.

"I used to look at the stars sometimes," Harry said quietly, as if he was afraid he would chase the scattered lights away. "But I never really noticed the constellations—not until I went to Hogwarts and took Astronomy."

"They are very important to the Blacks," Sirius said with a small smile. "I think I could identify them before I could read." He pushed himself up at the elbows. "See that one there, that large star through the trees? That one is Sirius. Part of Canis major, there, see it?" He took Harry's hand and pointed until Harry nodded.

He connected the points with Harry's finger while Harry followed the movement. "And, over there, not so very far away, is Rigel."

Harry's eyes slid over. He smiled. Sirius smiled as well, squeezed Harry's hand before returning it to him.

"Can we see Regulus?" Harry asked, turning his head to squint heavenward.

"Regulus," Sirius told him, pointing, "is the brightest star in the constellation Leo. Almost a straight line from Sirius …"

There was no ache of regret in Sirius' chest this time as the rest of the stars awakened. He was free, he had his son beside him, and there was nothing else he needed.


End file.
